The Long Hot Summer Slam
by Bob Wright
Summary: Second story in the series.  Hulk and his teammates prepare for a special Summer Slam in Boston, little suspecting that the Million Dollar Corporation's powerful friends have been dying to meet them in person.  NOW COMPLETED.
1. Chapter 1

THE LONG HOT SUMMER SLAM

BY BOB WRIGHT

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the first pay-per-view story in the series, and as such I will endeavor to put together the entire card. Hopefully this won't make the story go too long.

All persons' characteristics as laid out in this story are registered trademarks of World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc. And now, sit back and enjoy the story.

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><p>NOT THAT LONG AGO, IN AN ARENA NOT THAT FAR AWAY...<p>

"The heat, the excitement, and all the sounds of summer, they're all here around us in beautiful downtown Boston, right here from our perch atop this exquisite bridge overlooking the city's famed Swan Boat ride in the Public Garden," proclaimed the balding man in the formal red tuxedo and dark glasses seated at the broadcast table overlooking the Swan Boat pond below in the late afternoon sunshine, "Hello again, and welcome to our special Summer Slam preview edition of Prime Time Wrestling; I'm Gorilla Monsoon, here as always with Bobby 'the Brain' Heenan," he glanced rather sourly at his broadcast partner, unabashedly decked out in a colonial patriot uniform-the coat of which was covered with Hawaiian-style flowers and palm trees, "Brain, the card has been set, all the matches are signed, and this weekend, Summer Slam will be taking place live here at the beautiful Boston Garden not far from where we are."

"And I for one can't wait," Heenan agreed, stuffing a hot dog into his mouth, "This is going to be the biggest World Wrestling Federation extravaganza of them all, especially when the world sees my man, Mr. Perfect, win back his Intercontinental title off Bret 'the Hitman' Hart in what I guarantee will be the quickest title match in WWF history."

"Well, we ARE in agreement that this is the biggest extravaganza of them all, Brain," Monsoon said with a slight roll of the eyes, "For the benefit of you the viewers, let's break down each match that has been signed, starting of course with the big main event: the Mega Powers, Hulk Hogan and 'Macho Man' Randy Savage against the self-proclaimed 'Mega Mercenaries,' the Iron Sheik and Nikolai Volkoff in a steel cage match. The rules here are simple: whichever team can get both men out of the cage first, with both feet touching the ground, will be declared the winner."

"Personally, I think the Mega Powers made a mega-mistake signing this match," Heenan opined, swallowing a fist full of french fries-just another sampling of the literal smorgasbord laid out before him on the table, "The Sheik and Volkoff live and breathe for a steel cage match; they're hardcore fighters at heart; the Mega Powers are giant wusses who cry uncle at the slightest cut."

"Now I've never seen either the Hulkster or the Macho Man do that, Brain," Monsoon raised his eyebrows, "And let's not forget, it was the so-called Mega Mercenaries who basically got this match signed about a month ago with the unwarranted attack they pulled on the Superstars of Wrestling that we're going to show you again right now," he turned towards the TV monitor positioned between Heenan and himself as the relevant footage came up on it...

* * *

><p><em>ONE MONTH PRIOR...<em>

_"Please welcome if you will, the Mega Powers, World Wrestling Federation World Heavyweight Champion Hulk Hogan and 'Macho Man' Randy Savage, along with their infinitely lovely manager, Elizabeth!" TV interviewer "Mean" Gene Okerlund grandly proclaimed, gesturing at the curtain as the Mega Powers and Elizabeth strolled out and up to the interview podium to a thundering ovation. "Hulk Hogan, we all..." Okerlund began, pausing as Hulk took the opportunity to somewhat gratitously rip his shirt off before continuing, "We all know what you and the Macho Man have accomplished so far as the Mega Powers; could you give us a sneak peak at what the future might hold for the both of you from here?"_

_"Well you know something, Mean Gene, when we formed the Mega Powers, we knew the sky was the limit, man," Hulk half-shouted to the crowd, even though the microphone was mere inches from his face, "And while things have been great so far, I can only imagine the things we can accomplish from here, with Elizabeth as our guiding light."_

_He put an arm around her-which was gently pushed away by Savage, who put his own arm around her instead. "The stratosphere, the ionosphere, the exosphere, we're going further than that," the Macho Man predicted, "We ain't stoppin till we're at least all the way to Saturn and back, OOOOOOOOOH YEAH!"_

_The arena erupted. Over at the announcer's table nearby, Jesse "the Body" Ventura slapped a hand to his face. "And what is THAT supposed to mean?" he ranted on the air, "If he's going to be part of a world championship tandem, I demand the man speak English so..."_

_"Well Jesse, apparently you missed the point of the whole speech, impossible as that may be; they...wait a minute, what's HE doing coming out here?" Vince McMahon frowned as, without warning, "Classy" Freddie Blassie strode through the curtain and approached the interview platform to a round of boos. He seized another microphone by the base of the platform as he tramped up to meet the Mega Powers face to face. "Well, well, well, what have we here but the Mega Morons, out to burnish their overblown image," he sneered at them._

_"You have no business being out here, Blassie!" Hulk snapped at him, "You can have your own interview later on when...!"_

_"I'll leave when I'm good and ready, CHAMP," Blassie said the word as if it were a plague. "You and the Macho Mistake here certainly aren't worth any extra airtime as far as I'm concerned-especially not when you let your careers be guided by someone who's unworthy to manage," he glared coldly at Elizabeth._

_"What is that supposed to mean, Blassie!" a furious Hulk demanded, "Elizabeth is ten times the manager you can ever hope to be!"_

_"Oh really? Well let me tell you something, sister," Blassie pushed past his former pupil to get right in Elizabeth's face, "I've been in this racket for over thirty years; I've fought tooth and nail to be the best manager in the business, and the day I let a stupid little skirt who has no business being in professional wrestling steal that honor from me is the day that Hell freezes over! And furthermore," he raised his voice louder, clearly feeding off the hurt expression now forming on her face, "I'd like to see one so-called credential that would make you qualified to even set foot in an arena that would...!"_

_He got no further, for Savage now seized him by the collar and hoisted him a good four feet off the ground. "Unbelievable!" the Macho Man roared in his face, "I can't believe you would have the brass to say that about the Mega Powers' manager! I think this calls for a little bit of turnaround, don't you, Hulkster?"_

_"Absolutely," Hulk took Blassie off his colleague and pushed him down flat on the floor, his face right over Elizabeth's feet. "What is this!" the Classy One demanded._

_"What it is is, you either kiss up and say you're good and sorry, Blassie, or you're going to feel the Madness and the Mania like you've never felt it before, OOOOOOOOH YEAH!" Savage ordered him to a loud cheer_

_"Well, I guess I have only one thing to say to that, and that's this," Blassie let out a loud whistle instead of actual words._

_"Not good enough; I said kiss!" Savage pressed a boot to the back of Blassie's head. Both he and Hulk failed, however, to notice the two figures suddenly coming from behind the curtain-but McMahon did. "Wait a minute, the Iron Sheik and Nikolai Volkoff coming up from behind; what are they doing to...oh no, turn around, turn...!" he yelled, but it was too late: the Sheik and Volkoff Pearl Harbored the Mega Powers from behind, sending them flying off the platform. "Great job, boys," Blassie commended his men, leaping back to his feet, "Give them the Iron Curtain treatment!" _

_He stepped aside as the Sheik and Volkoff leaped off the platform onto the Mega Powers to continue the attack, then hooked his cane in front of Elizabeth as she started forward to help Hulk and Savage. "Watch and learn how it's done, princess!" he snarled at her, holding her still and forcing her to watch Hulk and Savage being beaten and kicked mercilessly below. "Great job, great job!" he egged them on, "Now choke them out!" _

_"Yes, Comrade Blassie," Volkoff seized a microphone cable and wrapped it around Hulk's throat. The Sheik did the same with Savage. "Both men choking the Mega Powers out; this is as disgraceful as it gets!" an irate McMahon ranted over the airwaves, "This is not athletic competition at all; this is pure old fashioned brutality!" _

_"Well A, McMahon, Hogan and Savage deserve it for manhandling Blassie, which was even more uncalled for as far as I'm concerned, and secondly, this is a free country; sue the Sheik and Volkoff if they get a little overexcited at being able to exercise those rights, unlike back home," Ventura laconically opined. _

_"But look what they're doing, Jesse; you call choking a man out freedom of expression!" McMahon blasted him, "If they wanted to defend Blassie's honor, they should have come at them from the front, not a sneak attack like this!" _

_"But at least you can get Blassie credit, keeping Liz out of harm's way..." _

_"He's forcing her to watch it, Jesse; I'll bet he's hurting her arms too-oh no!" McMahon grimaced as the Sheik and Volkoff dumped the limp Mega Powers back onto the platform and hopped back up, striking triumphant poses over them. Volkoff seized the microphone. "Take a look at your all-American hero now, beaten easily by superior Soviet training!" he shouted at the crowd, mocking Hulk's ear pose when they gave him an ear-splitting boo, "In honor of this victory for Mother Russia, I feel like singing Soviet National Anthem to entire worldwide TV audience!" _

_"Oh please, anything but that!" McMahon groaned, but it was to no avail, as Volkoff placed his fur hat over his heart, planted a foot on the downed Hulk's chest, and burst into a full, hearty rendition of the Soviet anthem. The Sheik took the mike off him when he finally finished. "Iran, Number One; Russia, Number One; U.S.A. and Mega Powers, bah, phooey!" he roared, spitting on Savage and Hulk in contempt and tossing the mike on top of the former. "Come on boys, our work here's done," Blassie told them, pushing past a stunned Okerlund, "And as for you," he pointed coldly at a tearful Elizabeth, "Take my advice and go back to the kitchen where you belong!" _

_He laughed contemptuously as he led the Sheik and Volkoff away to massive booing. "Freddie Blassie, the Iron Sheik, and Nikolai Volkoff have all together fallen to new depths here in the World Wrestling Federation," McMahon growled furiously as they disappeared behind the curtain, "How can they possibly try and justify that gutless spectacle we just witnessed!?" _

_"Well maybe they had amnesia and didn't know what they were doing," Ventura offered an explanation clear out of left field. _

_"Amnesia!? I'm not going to even try to respond_ _to that one, Jesse. Medical crews now arriving on the scene; hopefully Hulk Hogan and Randy Savage are all right after this cowardly action by Blassie and his men..."_

* * *

><p>"You know, I can't blame Blassie for doing it," Heenan offered up his interpretation as the footage ended, "If I were mistreated like the way Hulk and Savage mistreated him, I'd want justice too."<p>

"So you think justice entails beating and choking guys that you attack from behind, and making hurtful, sexist comments towards an innocent woman?" Monsoon raised both eyebrows.

"How do we know Liz is innocent, Monsoon; she could be two-timing every time Savage's back's turned. And I think Blassie's right; there is no place for women in professional wrestling..."

"We're going to leave that at that," Monsoon cut in, "On behalf of the World Wrestling Federation, I would like to apologize to all the female viewers out there who may have been offended by either the footage or Bobby Heenan's comments just now. Anyway, like we said, these two teams will be meeting in the main event, and we'll see how strong the so-called Mega Mercenaries are when they're locked in a steel cage with two guys whom they've goaded into happily defending America's honor."

"Oh sure, Hogan really represents everything good about America," Heenan snorted.

"And I suppose you do instead, Brain?" Monsoon glared suspiciously at him, "That's right, don't think I don't know where you get your money; I've been in the wrestling business as long as you have, and I know when somebody's not playing straight."

"You've got me all wrong, Monsoon; I'm as innocent as a newborn babe," Heenan flashed an innocent expression. Monsoon rolled his eyes. "Moving on, Brain, Summer Slam looks to have the potential of being very profitable for you and the Heenan Family; first, your guy Mr. Perfect gets another shot a Bret Hart's Intercontinental title..."

"For the record, it's still Mr. Perfect's title," Heenan shot back defensively, "Bret Hart cheated to get it; he pulled the singlet..."

"A move, Brain, that was not visible on replay to anyone but you, I may point out."

"They altered the tape; they had to..."

"Also," Monsoon was already looking fed up with his broadcast partner, "Your Brainbusters have a shot at the tag team title when they enter the ring against Demolition; that should be a beauty of a matchup."

"It's our time, baby; Arn and Tully have trained hard for this moment, and I can personally guarantee they will walk out of that ring with the belts, and nothing Ax and Smash can do will stop them."

"Only time will tell, Brain. We also have on the card the Figure Four Leglock Challenge, with Nature Boy Ric Flair going up against Tito Santana, with the stipulation that the winner must make his opponent submit to the Figure Four Leglock."

"And that's going to be no contest at all; Santana doesn't belong to be mentioned in the same sentence as the Real World's Champion. Here, have an ice cream sundae, my treat," Heenan extended the glass towards Monsoon.

"Will you stop!" Monsoon pushed it away. "And then we have the big boys, Andre the Giant squaring off against the Undertaker; something's got to give in this matchup; neither man loses often, but somebody's losing this one. And then another of your guys, Ravishing Rick Rude, might just end up paying for the cruel things he said about the Big Boss Man's mother when the two of them finally meet."

"I told Jack Tunney not to book this match; the Boss Man's insane, he wants to kill me and Rick; our lives are on the line here," Heenan all but begged into the camera.

"Well Brain, if you'd kept a tighter leashing on the Ravishing One, maybe he'd have thought twice about saying what he did about the Boss Man's mother; we'll spare you younger viewers the specifics, but they were things no mothers out there should have to hear. Also, Ricky 'the Dragon' Steamboat gets his crack at Jake 'the Snake' Roberts in what looks to be payback for the brutal beatdown Roberts gave him in front of his wife on Saturday Night's Main Event; let's take a look at this footage again," he turned back to the monitor...

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><p><em>A LITTLE OVER A YEAR AND A HALF PRIOR...<em>

_"Ricky 'the Dragon' Steamboat coming down to the ring, high-fiving everyone along the railing," McMahon proclaimed, "Wife Bonnie smiling in the front row; looks like the little Dragon's not too far off, Jesse, probably no more than three months away now."_

_"Yeah, so it's amazing they could even fit her into a front row seat if you ask..."_

_"We'll have none of that, Jesse; how would you feel if I said something like that about someone close to you? Steamboat giving his wife a kiss-wait a minute, from behind, here comes Jake the Snake!" the words left his lips seconds before Roberts plowed full steam into Steamboat, sending him crumpling to the floor. Laughing coldly, Roberts smashed Steamboat hard into the ringpost, then pounded his head into it repeatedly. "Jake the Snake with a full on attack on Ricky Steamboat, who's still in his ring gear; meanwhile the bell hasn't rung yet; referee Danny Davis is just standing there watching Jake Roberts demolish Ricky Steamboat; why isn't he starting the match?" McMahon asked out loud, frowning as Davis casually leaned against the ropes above the two combatants and observed the melee silently._

_"Well, maybe he's just waiting; Steamboat really hasn't put up much offense yet, so you can't really call it a match right now."_

_"But the referee's supposed to maintain control, and this certainly doesn't constitute-oh no, Roberts now choking Steamboat out with the TV cable!" McMahon grimaced, "And Davis STILL just standing there watching; why isn't he taking control of this!"_

_"I'd say he's giving Steamboat a chance to recover, McMahon; maybe he'll..."_

_"Oh no, Roberts with a hard, short clothesline!" McMahon grimaced at the rough blow. "Wait a minute, what's he doing now?" he frowned deeply as Roberts pulled up the ringside mats, "Oh no, he's not going to...Roberts hauls Steamboat up; pointing right at Bonnie, telling her...oh no, he wouldn't...!"_

_"Oh yes he would, McMahon, and here we go," Ventura all but cheered as Roberts hooked Steamboat's head under his arm, ignoring the crowd crying out for him not to do it._

_"No, not on solid concrete, not a DDT on solid concrete; stop this, Mr. Davis, don't...NO!"_

_But Davis casually watched with a smug expression as Roberts brutally drove Steamboat headfirst to the concrete in a hard DDT-indeed, the referee let out a small applause at the terrible deed and climbed out of the ring, heading for the exit. "Steamboat is out cold, Jesse; I think he just might be complete unconscious," McMahon was aghast at the unmoving Steamboat on the floor, "Mrs. Steamboat is in tears; how horrible can it be to see a loved one put through something like that right in front of you? Jake Roberts now going for the bag; oh come on, this is revolting to end it with this!"_

_Roberts nonetheless dumped Damien on the fallen Steamboat and wrapped his pet around the Dragon's face. "You cannot get any lower than that," McMahon growled furiously, "And Roberts now walking away, headed down the aisle without looking back, not a shred of remorse on his face for these coldhearted actions. The medics coming by him; hopefully Steamboat hasn't suffered anything career-ending here." _

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><p>"Needless to say, Brain, Ricky Steamboat has waited a long time for another crack at Jake the Snake," Monsoon turned back to his partner, "You may recall Jake was still serving his suspension for these actions when Steamboat had recovered, and then was put out of commission again by Randy Savage when he still worked with Sensational Sherri. Now, though, time is in the Dragon's favor, and he's already gotten some measure of payback with that win over the now suspended for life from officiating 'Dangerous' Danny Davis last week, highlights of which will be seen later on this broadcast. Now he's after the Snake himself, and he has made it known that he will have a dragon of his own in his corner to counteract Damien."<p>

"Well, good luck with that for him; I don't know Fantasyland's address, and I don't think he does either," Heenan cracked, wolfing down a hamburger.

"Will you stop!" Monsoon upbraided him again. "OK, also on this year's card, we have Rowdy Roddy Piper stepping into the ring against the Walking Natural Disaster, the Earthquake; that should be an interesting one. And, to fill out the matchups between the Mega Powers Rock 'n Wrestling Connection and the Million Dollar Corporation at this event, the Million Dollar Man Ted DiBiase will be squaring off with the British Bulldog Davey Boy Smith, in which DiBiase has said is a non-title match in regards to his Million Dollar Belt, which of course is not officially sanctioned by the World Wrestling Federation anyway, so it makes no difference at all as far as I'm concerned."

"Maybe not to you, Monsoon, but as Million Dollar Champion, he can pick and choose who he wants, especially with an unsanctioned title that isn't subject to the thirty day rule," Heenan countered.

"I just said it's not an official title, Brain, so this conversation is pointless, just like you. We also have other matches on the card that don't involve people from either faction: in the first, the Ultimate Warrior will face the Magnificent Don Muraco in what looks like a match of powerhouses; for some time now, the Ultimate Warrior has been trying to join the Mega Powers Rock 'n Wrestling Connection, and perhaps with a solid win over the Magnificent One, he can get that bid."

"Why not, I say; looneys all work together, after all," Heenan shrugged indifferently.

"YOU'RE the looney, Brain. Also, the Japanese phenom Yokozuna tries his luck against Brutus 'the Barber' Beefcake; that looks to be an interesting matchup. As too will the signed six man match, pitting 'Hacksaw' Jim Duggan and the Rockers against Jimmy Hart's handpicked team of the Honky Tonk Man and the Nasty Boys. and And finally, we have additional tag team action between two teams that have been at each other's throats for some time over, essentially, wardrobe copyrights of sorts; this will be settled for good at Summer Slam when the Legion of Doom meets the Powers of Pain."

"No contest there; Hawk and Animal have had their day in the sun; now it's the Warlord and Barbarian's turn to doom them to defeat, if you get my drift. How about a soft drink?" Heenan extended that to his broadcast partner.

"Will you stop, Brain!" Monsoon upbraided him, "I'm trying to run a competent TV program here that is titled Prime Time Wrestling, not Bobby Heenan's Joy of Eating, which...NOW what are you doing?!" he demanded up seeing Heenan breaking pieces off his hamburger bun and casually sprinkling them down on the passengers in the swan boat going under the bridge at that moment.

"Shhh. I'm feeding the humanoids," the Brain told him off.

"WILL YOU STOP!?" Monsoon roared. When Heenan didn't, he sighed in frustration and said back to the camera, "Well, that pretty much wraps up our Summer Slam preview; the wrestlers should be arriving in Boston within the next day or so, so if you live in the area, keep a lookout for them. We'll be back after these commercial words with match footage from this previous week..."


	2. Chapter 2

"Attention passengers, we are now entering the Boston station," the bus driver announced over the intercom as he started slowing down, "Please gather your belongings at this time, but be sure to stay behind the yellow line until the bus comes to a full and complete stop. Thank you for choosing Cross-American Bus Lines for all your transcontinental travel needs."

Hulk Hogan was already on his feet as the bus slid to a stop. "OK, guys, let's roll on out," he announced to the rest of the Mega Powers Rock 'n Wrestling Connection.

"Amen to that," Roddy Piper proclaimed, leaping upright, "It never felt so good just to stand up after thirteen hours on the road."

Hulk merely smiled in agreement with the boisterous Scotsman as he hefted his luggage and bustled down the stairs into the bus station's unloading area. It certainly did feel good to stand up again after a long bus ride. "Boston," he mused, looking around, "A nice place for Summer Slam this year."

"I'd still have preferred New York, Hulk," Bret Hart came down the stairs next, "I've always dreamed of headlining there at Madison Square Garden."

"Well Bret old chap, we've got plenty of years left ahead of us for that," Davey Boy Smith patted him on the shoulder as he walked by to pop open the underneath rack. "Here we are, Mathilda old girl, home sweet home for Daddy's big event," he told his bulldog, lifting her carrier out of the bin, "Once we get cleared by security, I'll take you for a nice walk to the hotel."

"How far IS the hotel, anyway?" Tito Santana was frowning as he came down the steps, "I forgot how close...?"

"Looks like about five blocks from here, not too bad, oh yeah," Randy Savage was right behind him. He took Elizabeth by the hand and helped her down the steps. "So, I guess all those strategies are all worked out by now, right?" he asked her, his gaze going to the thick notebook she was holding.

"Pretty much, Randy," she nodded, her brow furling as she made a few last minute corrections to her notes, "So once we all check in, we should ask the hotel staff if they have a place we can all practice at."

"Hey, I'm all ready, Elizabeth," Hulk predicted confidently, "I've been ready ever since Volkoff cheap-shotted me from behind and then insulted America in front of all the kids."

"Well that's all good and well, Hulk, but I still think you and Randy need to do a simulation match," she insisted, "The Iron Sheik and Nikolai Volkoff may look like comparative pushovers to some of the other people you've faced, but I don't want the two of you going into this match overconfident. Remember, Freddie Blassie's a professional; he'll be looking for any weaknesses you might have to exploit too, so I'd like to identify any ahead of time so they can't be exploited. And the same goes with the rest of you, too."

"I'm all set," the Big Boss Man protested as he came down the steps, "I've never more set to give that wise guy Rick Rude a mouthful of teeth for what he said about my momma."

"Well I think Elizabeth does have a point, Boss Man," Ricky Steamboat followed him down, "After all, this is my first pay-per-view in a long time; I really want to be in top form."

He walked over to the luggage bin and hefted a carrying case that had been set up right next to Mathilda's. "Ah, looking good," he said through the front grating, "I just hope you're ready to came face to face with Damien. Oh, and I've been wondering, Liz, what if they don't have anywhere we could practice, Elizabeth?" he asked her.

"Well," she hesitated, "I really hadn't gotten that far yet..."

"She'll think of somethin', Dragon; she always does," Savage squeezed her bride's shoulders affectionately.

"Indeed," Hulk agreed, hefting his luggage again, "Still, I'm probably pretty well set all in all..."

"Why not; you've only been the biggest pain in the butt that ever came down the pike," came a new voice from behind the group. Hulk, though, broke into a smile at the presumed insult. "Tugger!" he proclaimed, striding towards the huge man in the sailor hat and suit by the nearest column and giving him a bear hug, "I'd forgotten you'd settled in Boston..."

"Figured I'd have to stop by to say hello when you showed up," the newcomer shook Hulk's hand vigorously-then unexpectedly picked him up and slammed him on top of a garbage can. "Still catch you off guard every time," he burst out laughing.

"Tell me about it," Hulk rubbed his back hard, "Everyone, I'd like you to meet 'Tugboat' Fred Thomas, my best friend," he introduced the man to the rest of his clique.

"Tugboat's fine," he walked over and started shaking everyone's hands, "I watch every week; any friend of the Hulkster is a friend of mine. But where's...?"

He got his answer as a low grunt indicated Andre the Giant was in fact stuck in the bus's door and straining to pull himself out. "Ah, hold up there, big guy, I'll give you a hand," Tugboat bustled over and took the Giant's hand. One hard pull was enough to yank Andre loose-and right on top of Tugboat. "Where did he go?" the Giant looked around in confusion.

"Uh, down here, Andre," Tugboat meekly mumbled from underneath him.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," Andre helped Tugboat up, "Thank you for your assistance, boss; maybe I should start cutting down to just three servings per meal."

"That should help, I think. So," Tugboat turned back to the rest of the group, "What hotel're you guys staying at?"

"The Four Seasons right on the Common," Hulk told him.

"Well, tell you all what; because any friend of Hulk's is a friend of mine, I'll give you all a free ride down there in my flagship duck boat tugboat," he offered.

"Wait, your what?" Davey frowned.

"Oh, well, let me explain then; I run a duck boat service in the city, only I make them out as part tugboats to coincide with my nickname; you've never heard of Tugboat's Duck Boat Tugboat rides?" he inquired.

"Uh, no, old chap, not really," the British Bulldog shook his head.

"Well come on along and I'll give you all a quick ride to the hotel in one," Tugboat slapped his playfully on the back, "In fact, if you've got any spare time before your matches tomorrow night, I could give you all a complementary tour of the city on it."

"Well, I guess so," Bret agreed as they all fell in line behind Tugboat up the escalator, "Just so as long as it doesn't distract from our training regiment..."

"No problem at all; in fact, I wouldn't mind joining in, since I've been thinking about joining the WWF for a while now, actually. After all, I'd love the honor of taking on those creeps you face every week; wonder what devious tricks they're planning right now anyway...?

* * *

><p>"Come on, push it harder you two!" Freddie Blassie demanded the Mega Mercenaries as they pushed their barbells hard over their heads, sweat pouring down their faces in rivers, "I want to see pain and lots of it! Harder, Nikolai, harder; you're nowhere near where I said you should be!"<p>

"Comrade Blassie, we've been at this for the last hour," the Russian complained between deep breaths, "Aren't Comrade Sheik and I all set?"

"Yeah," the Sheik gasped himself, "Those Mega Powers don't stand a chance once we..."

"One moment, Virgil, Martel," Blassie told the bodyguard and Sensational Sherri, who had been spotting for the foreigners. He leaned in very close to the Sheik and Volkoff. "I'll tell you two why I'm not going to let up until after we land," he said ominously, "Because this pay-per-view is going to be seen by millions of people all over the world-perhaps even a few in your own countries, and I will not-I repeat, WILL NOT-be made to look inferior to a woman on worldwide TV-no offense," he quickly asided to Sherri as she started to open her mouth in protest, "You are going to make sure the whole world sees I'm ten times the manager Loopy Liz can ever hope to be, so I'm making damn sure you two are in prime fighting condition for this match. So Virgil, twenty more pounds for each of them," he ordered the bodyguard.

"No more, please!" the Sheik weakly begged. Virgil merely grunted, walked over to the weight rack in the back, and brought over four more sets of ten-pound weights. The door to their chamber opened. "We're probably about ten minutes out, Freddie; better start wrapping up before the pilot starts descending," a somewhat seasick-looking Jimmy Hart told them.

"Thank Lenin," Volkoff gasped, leaping up and rushing back into the plane. "Wait for me, Nikolai!" the Sheik eagerly followed him. Blassie rolled his eyes in disgust. "Chickens," he grumbled to his fellow managers, "Back in the day when I wrestled, you went at it till you cracked; I'm really starting to get too soft on them..."

"You're working yourself way too hard, Freddie; there's nothing to worry about," Ted DiBiase slipped into the room as well, "You've got that match pretty much won already..."

"I'll relax, Ted, when either the Sheik or Nikolai has Hogan or Savage pinned for the one-two-three," Blassie said defiantly.

"If you say so," the Million Dollar Man shrugged him off. "Clear everything up, Virgil, and go buckle up for descent," he ordered his bodyguard.

"Well, I would like to say thanks for the lift, Ted; I appreciate a man who's willing to give so freely," Sherri commended him, leaning cattily into DiBiase's arm.

"As I always say, anyone who helpes the Million Dollar Man shall reap the rewards," DiBiase proclaimed.

"Yep," Jimmy added, wretching and reaching for a gold-lined vomit bag on the wall. DiBiase had agreed to fly the Million Dollar Corporation to Boston from his summer residence in Hyannisport, where all of them had spent a hard week partying, and the journey on his million dollar private jet had thus far been smooth and uneventful. But just then, the cabin gave a sharp lurch. "Oh no, we're going down!" Jimmy yelped, rushing to the corner and curling into a ball.

"Relax, Jimmy, it's nothing like that," DiBiase glanced through the door, "Earthquake's just trying to break up Perfect and Rude again."

"Again!" Blassie rolled his eyes in frustration, "I'll kill Bobby for leaving us having to babysit them while he goes to do his whole broadcast journalist crap!"

He pushed the door open into the main seating area. It was no secret that Mr. Perfect and Rick Rude had a bitter rivalry for the top spot in the Heenan Family, and the two of them were in fact now rolling around on the cabin floor, their hands at each other's throats, while above them, the giant Earthquake was trying to break them up, causing the plane to lurch depending on which side of the aisle he stepped. "Break it up, you two pencil-neck geeks, break it up!" Blassie ordered them, whacking Perfect and Rude with his cane.

"Not until pretty boy here apologies for calling my father a bum!" Perfect bellowed, refusing to relinquish his grip.

"I'm simply stating a fact, buster; your daddy is a washed-out bum and a disgrace, just like you!" Rude bellowed back.

"I know what this is all about, _Richard_, you're jealous that I'm the number one Intercontinental contender and you'll never be as perfect as I am," Perfect countered harshly.

"You're not perfect, _Curtis_; nobody's perfect! I, though, will always be simply ravishing, and that's what you're jealous of...!"

"I SAID BREAK IT UP AND SHUT UP!" Blassie ripped Rude off Perfect and slammed him face-first into the starboard side of the cabin. He then hauled Perfect to his feet and slammed him into the port side. "Now, if you two morons don't grow up and act your age, I'm telling Bobby to drop you both from his stable and remove you from our little organziation!" he roared at them, "Our order of business here is to humiliate Hogan and his buffoon squad, and I WILL NOT have the two of you embarrass me or anyone else on this plane because you can't stand each other!"

"Well he started it!" Perfect whined, pointed at Rude.

"I did not!" Rude shouted back.

"Yes you did!"

"No I didn't!"

"Yes you did...!"

"FREDDIE SAYS SHUT UP, AND SO DO THE REST OF US!" Jimmy screeched over his megaphone. Before things could get any more heated, the plane's intercom buzzed to life. "Excuse me, Mr. DiBiase, I have a collect call coming through from your special business partner," the pilot announced, "Shall I put it on speaker for you all?"

"Yes, yes, go right ahead," DiBiase instructed him. "OK everyone, take your seats; this is the last staff meeting before the pay-per-view," he instructed everyone, "Hey Jake, Paul, big guy," he rapped on the bathroom door, "It's Kennedesco time."

The bathroom door creaked open, letting a whiff of heavy incense escape into the cabin, setting everyone coughing. "Never fear, never fear, nothing deadly here," Paul Bearer intoned as his led the Undertaker and Jake Roberts out of the bathroom, "Just a little ritual to help with the match."

"Oh really?" Sherri snorted skeptically as she sat down and buckled up as the plane started descending, "Well, how did THAT go?"

"_We...are now...completely empowered...by the Dark Side,"_ the Undertaker softly hissed, taking his own seat.

"Oh yeah, brother, you and I are ready to end some careers tomorrow night," Roberts grinned darkly at his colleague, then stroked Damien around his neck as he buckled up as well.

"Still holding, Mr. DiBiase," the pilot announced again.

"Yeah, Dennis, patch him through, but circle the runway until he's done so the call can't be traced," DiBiase ordered him through the intercom. He whacked a sleeping Ric Flair hard on the shoulder to wake him up and sat down himself as the speakers buzzed to life. "Good afternoon everyone," came the scratchy voice of their underworld benefactor, Don Kennedesco Vincenelli, "I'm making this call from a phone booth down by the big skyscraper construction site a block down from my mansion, so I need to make this quick in case someone gets suspicious. Is everyone here?"

"All but Bobby, off trying to prove he's as good an announcer as he is a loudmouth sleeze," Blassie grumbled out loud.

"I'll get in touch with Heenan later. In the meantime, Mr. Perfect, I expect that Intercontinental belt tonight if I'm to have any more leverage on Jack Tunney..."

"It's as good as mine again, don't you worry, Don Vincenelli," Perfect proclaimed.

"I would like to take this opportunity to protest clear favoritism in the selection of contenders within the Million Dollar Corporation..." Rude began to state.

"Hey, you want to go, Rude; let's go right now; I'll prove I'm better than you right here, right now!" Perfect dared him.

"With pleasure, Perfect; let's go!" Rude started to undo his seatbelt.

"Sit down and shut up, both of you," Don Vincenelli ordered them, "I have quite a few..." he went into a brief coughing fit-the price of being a compulsive chain-smoker-before continuing, "as I was saying, my gambling organization is putting a lot of money down on you and your colleagues; suffice to say, I'll lose a lot if you go into your matches with broken bones already, and..."

"Hey, hey, hey!" Jimmy spoke up loudly, looking green at the gills from the rough descent, "I just had another idea, Don Vincenelli, one that if it works would disadvantage Hogan and his dummies and be untraceable to you or us."

"What is it, Hart?"

"You've said repeatedly you have a lot of rivals in the wrestling business trying to muscle into your territorial gambling; I remember though, you mentioned during one meeting a few months ago that you've made peace with one syndicate that..." the Mouth of the South wretched and threw up in another vomit bag before continuing, "Sorry; I mean, you said you're on reasonable terms with the Raftello Family, was it?"

"Yeah, good old Alberto Raftello. What about him?"

"Use him to take Hogan and company out of the way," Jimmy proposed, "Don't kill them, of course, but have them cause some kind of accident that'll injure them enough to lose the matches at Summer Slam tomorrow night. You can probably find something to offer him in exchange that'll be a good price for his services. And if the cops or Tunney get wise, all the heat'll fall on him; we'll all be scot-free."

There was a momentary silence before the don let out a low chuckle. "I like the way you think, Hart," he commended the Madman from Memphis, "OK, once I'm done here with all of you, I'll give Alberto a buzz and see what he can do to cripple Hogan and friends. Now, for the rest of you, here's what I'd like to see in your matches tomorrow night..."


	3. Chapter 3

"Thanks for the lift, Tugger," Hulk told his friends as the converted duck boat pulled up right in front of the hotel.

"Any time, pal," Tugboat gave him a hard slap on the shoulder that almost bowled Hulk over, "Remember, ten tomorrow morning, right here, I'll give you the free city tour."

"Sure thing. OK guys, let's check in," the world champion waved his colleagues down the ramp. "It's strange, yeah, but I like it," Piper nodded at the duck boat with it's tugboat-style smokestack and prow, "I've got to get me one of those."

"Would fit you like a glove, amigo," Tito chuckled, "Need any help, Andre?"

The Giant sucked in a deep breath and just managed to squeeze down the ramp. "Piece of cake, boss," he reassured the Mexican.

"OK, let's check in, then," Hulk pulled up the handle of his primary suitcase and wheeled it into the lobby. He was impressed by its luxury the moment he'd stepped through the revolving door. All the years on the road, he'd spent most of his nights after matches in small, grungy backwater motels off major highways; now, ever since the WWF had taken off, he'd been staying in the best accomodations the company's budget could buy. He almost dreaded the day the industry's boom would end; once one got a taste of the high life, it would be hard to come down.

He put the thought of out of his mind, though, as they all approached the front desk. "Hi, we're checking in for tomorrow night's Summer Slam," he told the clerk on duty.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Hogan, was it?" the clerk scanned his records, "Yes, five rooms on the fourth floor. But we do have a strict policy against pets..." he frowned at Davey and Steamboat's carrying cases.

"We understand, but we do have a recommendation from World Wrestling Federation President Jack Tunney vouching for Mathilda and my special pet here," Steamboat handed a paper to the clerk, "So just this once it could be considered OK."

"Hmm," the clerk scanned it, "Well, I'd have to go over it with my superiors, but I supposed everything's in order, then. We'll have you luggage taken up while I clear it."

"Oh, and before we go, we had been planning to get a little practice in beforehand," Bret told him, "So have you got an exercise room or somewhere else with mats we could use?"

"No, I'm afraid not," the clerk shook his head, "We don't usually cater to people in your profession, Mr. Liver."

"Hart," he corrected him, "Any ideas, Elizabeth?" he turned to her.

"Hmm," her brow furled in thought. Then her face lit up. "Do you have a pool, and how deep is it at its deepest?" she asked the clerk.

"Yes, about five feet," he told her, "Why?"

* * *

><p>"OK, you guys ready?" she asked Hulk and Savage about a half hour later, now clad in bathing suits as they stood at the head of the pool's deep end.<p>

"OOOOOOOOOOh yeah," her husband nodded firmly, "Another great compromise idea by the best mind in all of wrestling."

"Thank you, Randy," she blushed.

"And in the water here, we can at least montior each move in slower motion," Bret agreed from his observation perch at the shallow end, "OK, start it up, Elizabeth."

"OK, here's how we'll do it; Roddy, you can do Volkoff..."

"No problem at all," Piper swaggered forward and hunched slightly over. "My name's Nikolai Volkoff; I'm the biggest, dumbest, poorest excuse for international Communism there is," he said mockingly in the best fake Russian accent he could muster, "I live and breathe for singing my country's anthem for no good reason every time a TV camera's turned..."

"That's good, Roddy," she interrupted him, "Davey, you can be the Sheik."

"I don't do an Arab accent," the Englishman said half-jokingly, nonetheless imitating the Sheik's trademark spitting at the ground as he joined Piper on the lip of the pool. "Andre, you referee," she instructed the Giant, who olbigingly waded down into the water, which only came up to around his knees, "OK, now we're..."

"Shouldn't we cast Blassie too?" Steamboat piped up, "After all, he's bound to interfere any way possible, even if there's a cage between him and the combatants."

"Oh yeah, good point, Ricky; Boss Man, you up for that?" she asked the former prison guard.

"Of course," the Boss Man flicked his nightstick around, "Making fun of that cheating backstabber'll make me feel pumped up, all right."

"OK, I guess we're all set then," she nodded, "Just pretend you're in a steel cage, and please be careful if you do any jumping. All right, the Sheik and Volkoff go in first..."

"Be quiet, you capitalist dogs, while I sing Soviet National Anthem!" Piper bellowed in his fake Russian accent around the empty pool room (they had requested and received a half hour to themselves), then broke into a bad rendition of the song. "OK, Hulk, Randy, you go in now," she instructed them.

"OOOOOh yeah," Savage rushed to the edge of the pool and immediately dove in with an elbow to Davey's head. "I don't think you can go straight up to the top and do that, Randy old gent," Davey grimaced as he received another (pulled) elbow.

"Well I'd say if we knock those two off-balance right away, they ain't gonna have no chance to respond, yeah," the Macho Man Irish whipped him in slow motion through the water towards the pool wall, then brought up the foot to his face.

"Well we don't want to get too agressive right away, Randy," his wife advised him, "The last thing we want is a DQ if the referee thinks we're too agressive."

"Hey, the Sheik and Volkoff are the dictionary definition of too agressive; anything we'd do would look tame compared to them, Elizabeth," Hulk declared as he dove into the pool once Savage tagged him in and knocked Davey flat on his back with a flying tackle of his own, "Of course, you're right that the softer things will work too," he lifted Davey up and pressed him a few times, before slamming him into the water, "So we should still consider The Kiss of Death a viable option in an emergency..."

"I don't know, Hulk," she looked hesitant, "I'm not really sure that's something that...I mean, it's not..."

"Well, like he said, just in case of emergency," Savage assured her, taking the tag from Hulk and jumping in, "God willing we'll have the Mega Mercs down and out before it would ever get to that point, like so," he faked pounding Davey's head into the imaginary steel cage. Davey stumbled around the side of the pool before tagging Piper. "Here I come, guardian of Mother Russia's honor!" Piper continued the Russian accent as he stumbled into the pool, "Too bad all I can do is pound, pound, and pound some more, like this," he flipped down a series of pretend blows to Savage's back.

"Well, I do think that's the one area we'd have an edge after watch tapes of their matches for the last week," Elizabeth agreed, shifting along the edge of the pool to keep to keep on top of the action, "They do have a slower style, so if we maintain speed throughout, we'll have a clear advantange."

"No kidding; those two move like tortoises on sleeping medicine," Piper cracked, allowing himself to be kicking in the chest, "I can't see how they'd survive a hardcore training regiment like this."

* * *

><p>"Faster, faster, Nikolai! Come on, Sheik, no pain, no gain!" Jimmy belowed at the Mega Mercenaries over his megaphone, leaning out the window of DiBiase's limousine as it cruised slowly through one of Boston's back alleys. Huffing heavily, the Sheik and Volkoff jogged alongside, looking winded. "How much further till we take another break?" the Iranian protested between gasps.<p>

"Break? What're you wanting a break for, Sheik? We just rested five miles ago!" Blassie leaned out another window, "So I want to see more sweat from you two!"

"You heard him, full speed ahead!" Jimmy shouted through the megaphone. He glanced around at the alley, then withdrew into the limo. "This kind of looks like the place Vincenelli said to go to," he told his fellow managers.

"You sure?" Heenan, whom they'd picked up at the broadcast position in the Public Garden, glanced out the other side, "Half these alleys look the same."

"No, this is it," Blassie was nodding, "See, the tomato company's right over there; he said that was Raftello's headquarters. Stop the limo, Ted," he instructed the Million Dollar Man next to him.

"Right. OK, Pierre, pull it over here," DiBiase called to his driver, who slammed on the brakes. "OK, Bobby, Paul, come with me; we'll get this all set up," Blassie told the Brain and the mortician, "Jimmy, you and Martel keep Nikolai and the Sheik going till we're out. Ted, the dough."

"Right here," DiBiase handed him another briefcase, "And I'll call in our hotel reservations while we're waiting."

He started dialing his personal phone in the limo as Blassie, Heenan, and Bearer climbed out. "Yes, Omni Parker Hotel, this is Ted DiBiase; I would like to reserve the top floor for the next three days for my friends and I...yes, the entire top floor...I don't care if you have people already booked in up there, toss them out to the curb...no, I don't think YOU understand; I'm the Million Dollar Man, and what I want, I get...yes, and I'd say for an upfront cost of, oh, ten million dollars, you can make this arrangement for me...all right, if that's not your price, I'm willing to offer fifty million for the top floor...that's much better. Yes, but don't feel bad; everyone has a price for the Million Dollar Man. Now, why don't you go and evict all the peons currently squatting in my suites, and when my friends and I get there, we want full first class service twenty-four hours a day for..."

The rest of his conversation was lost as the limo started cruising around in a circle in the alley, Jimmy and Sherri still barking instructions out the window to the Sheik and Volkoff. The three managers trudged over to the iron door at the back of the tomato factory. Blassie rapped hard on the door. An eyeslot slid open. "We're closed," the set of eyes peeking through demanded gruffly.

"Oh that's OK, we're just here for a little after-hours inspection; a business call from one of your friendly business partners," Heenan said confidently.

"Got the password?"

"Of course we do, it's...it's...it's..." worried, the Brain waved his colleagues in. "Uh, what did he say the password was again?" he whispered at them.

"'Our tomatoes run redder than everyone else's,' you imbecile!" Blassie blasted him.

"Right, of course, I knew that; just checking that the two of you knew it," Heenan said quickly. "Our tomatoes run redder than everyone else's," he told the guard, "Don Kennedesco Vincenelli acknowledges how great an operation you guys run; he called your boss to tell him we were coming, I do believe."

The eyehole slid shut. Moments later, the door slowly opened. "You've got ten minutes," the huge, hulking man on the other side advised them. He led the managers through the factory to the rear office. "Don Raftello, your guests," he told the morbidly obese man seat behind the desk there, surrounded by huge goons.

"Mr. Blassie, Mr. Heenan, Mr. Bearer, pleasure to meet you," the don greeted them, "I received the call from Vincenelli a few hours ago. You said you wanted your foes to have an accident, yes?"

"Oh yes," Bearer steps forward, "Nothing deadly, to be sure, but something that will make the Hulkster and his friends weak and unable to resist. So you know who to take it out on," he handed a photo of the Mega Powers Rock 'n Wrestling Connection to one of the goons, who handed it to Raftello in turn, "Just be sure to make it look completely accidental; we don't want heat on you any more than we'd want it on ourselves."

"Very much appreciated," Raftello grunted softly, "You've got what I asked for?"

"It's all here," Blassie handed the briefcase to the goon, "You can be a little rough-if you could put Hogan out of commission for at least a month so he'd have to vacated the title, I'd really appreciate it-but nothing fatal-at least not on purpose. We don't want any chance this could rebound."

"We understand," Raftello nodded again, "Louie," he addressed the biggest thug near him, "Gather up our best guys and locate Hogan and his teammates; I want surveillance on them until we move."

"Right, boss," Louie grunted and started to leave. Raftello held up a hand to make him stay a while longer. "You may go, gentlemen," he told the managers, "We'll take care of everything. Give my regards to Vincenelli."

"The pleasure's all ours, Don Raftello. Wish us luck; my men will be good and ready for the title match regardless of what you do," he nodded out the window to see the Sheik and Volkoff still running in circles in the alley by DiBiase's circling limo, "Let's go, boys."

He led Heenan and Bearer out the door. Once they were gone, Raftello waved Louie and a few other goons closer. "Forget what Vincenelli and his clowns want; just whack these wrestling bozos," he instructed them, "If we show we ain't got no restraint, we'll get a big boost in the wrestling gambling racket, maybe even put Vincenelli out of business himself."

"You got it, boss," Louie cocked his machine gun, "Nine dead wrestlers and one dead broad, coming right up."


	4. Chapter 4

AUTHOR'S NOTE: All lyrics in this chapters and all subsequent ones when used are registered trademarks of their respective copyright holders.

* * *

><p>"...and it's a line drive by Greenwell down the left field line, that's going to score at least one run," proclaimed the announcer on the TV in Hulk's hotel room as two Red Sox base runners scurried home to add to their lead over Cleveland.<p>

"That's more like it," Hulk grinned, leaning back on his bed in the dark, "I thought they were going let this one slip away after the last few innings, Tito."

"Not these guys, not this time, Hulk," Tito said, leaning back in the chair closest to the blind-drawn window, "Perhaps this'll be the year they actually break the curse."

"Perhaps," Hulk mused, shifting around on the bed. It was just past nine thirty by now; he probably wouldn't hit the sack for at least another hour. He frequently took turns rooming with the other members of the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection, not really having a preferred roommate on the road (other members of the group were more rigid; Bret and Davey always roomed together, for instance, and Savage had made it rather clear he preferred that he and Elizabeth have a room to themselves in each city).

"You ever think of playing baseball as a kid, Tito?" he asked his current roommate.

"A little, Hulk," Tito told him, "There was a semi-pro team that would swing by town every now and then, and I'd watch their games at the stadium. But I got my heart set on wrestling early enough; we had bullies in the neighborhood from when I was young, so wrestling grew out of me as a natural defense against them. Then I started sneaking into the wrestling halls after dark and watched them go at it; some of them were too brutal for my liking, but I picked up the basics rather quickly. I remember the time El Santo dropped by for a show; I was just eleven, but seeing him in action made me know for sure wrestling was what I wanted to do. So, when we emigrated to Texas, I was pretty much all set, and started wrestling in college."

He took a swig of soda and let out a low sigh. "Flair had been passing through the Texas territory around that time," he confessed to the world champion, "I saw him in action one night and thought he was the best I'd ever seen; I decided to make the Figure Four Leglock my finisher after watching him. When I approached him after the show, however, and asked him for pointers on how to become the best I could, he brushed me off, saying he had no time for 'foreigners.' That really hurt."

"I'm sure it did," Hulk nodded grimly, "Flair has no idea what the real spirit of America is, and clearly never did. So I guess tomorrow's match with him means a who lot more to you then?"

"Yep," Tito looked grimly determined, "Not only can I show him with a win that I'm better than he thinks I am, but that every Hispanic out there is just as good as a white wrestler if they try hard enough."

"Amen-oooooh, that was close," Hulk shouted as the latest Red Sox runner just barely beat the throw to the plate for another run. Abruptly, the phone rang. "Yeah, Hogan here?" he asked when he picked it up.

"Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Hogan; there's a guy down here wearing face paint who wants a word with you; he's rather adamant about it," the desk clerk told him. Hulk groaned in frustration. "Nothing you'll say'll get rid of him?" he posed.

"Sorry; he insists. He's heading for the elevators now; apparently it's an open secret where you're staying in the hotel, somehow."

"All right, all right, I'll take care of it; have someone ready up here to escort him out once we're done," Hulk sighed, hanging up. "HIM again?" Tito asked, looking ready to groan himself.

"Yeah," the champion walked to the door, "Well, the quicker we get this over with, the quicker we can get him out of here."

He resignedly trudged over to the elevator, which in no time dinged as it reached his floor. "OK, Warrior, you do realize this is way past the time most of us are in bed?" he tried to remain calm as the door slid open and he found himself once again (against his better judgment) staring straight into the painted face of the Ultimate Warrior, "What is so important this time that you have to...?

"I have received the message from the gods," the Warrior proclaimed loudly, raising his arms high over his head, "I am to rise to a higher plain, join a stronger force, become among the best there is..."

"Will you shut up out there, buddy; I'm trying to sleep here!" bellowed the man next door. Undaunted, the Warrior continued on, shouting straight in Hulk's face almost at the top of his lungs, "Since I have joined the World Wrestling Federation, I have sought the power and prestige that the world championship, or a comparable championship holds. The fight has not been easy, nor has it been fair, but here I stand, on the brink of..."

"I know, I know, you want to join the Mega Powers Rock 'n Wrestling Connection again," Hulk rolled his eyes in disgust, "You said basically the same thing last time you busted in on us in Denver."

"Is this...?" Bret came out of his room, clad in pink and black pajamas. He too sighed upon seeing the Warrior standing by Hulk. "I should have known," he said in resignation, "Listen, Warrior," he approached the newcomer, "We have told you, several times over, we are not accepting any new members into the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection at this time, so there's no need to..."

"But it is my destiny!" the Warrior bellowed at the top of his lungs, beating his chest wildly for good measure, "The gods have spoken and told me now is the time for me to take the final step to the highest level, and that includes joining forces with the other warriors who ravage the World Wrestling Federation, to become one with...!"

"Yes, perhaps, Warrior, but I think you misinterpreted the timing with it all that the gods laid out for you," the Hitman gently took him by the hand and led him towards the stairwell, "So why don't you go on back to wherever you came from before you got here just now," he waved at a bellboy up the hall and pointed sharply at the Warrior, and then the stairwell, "and reevaluate the gods' message, and get back to us some time after Summer Slam, and especially after we've all had a good night's sleep."

He pushed open the stairwell door. "You shall see that the message is in fact true!" the Warrior continued shouting at the top of his lungs, even as half the people on the floor started shouting inside their rooms for him to shut up, "Tomorrow, at Summer Slam, I shall in fact conquer the Magnificent Muraco, and when I have defeated him and pinned him for the victory, even you shall see that my destiny is among the stars that are...!"

"OK pal, let's go," the bellboy, clearly fed up with the Warrior too, seized his arm and led him down the stairs. Bret quickly pushed the door closed and pressed himself against it. "Thank God we ended that quick enough," he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Is it over?" Davey stuck his head out of the room he and Bret had been sharing.

"Yep, we got rid of him," Hulk nodded in relief himself.

"Thank the Lord," the Englishman rejoiced, "That bloke's completely bonkers. I'd even say he makes Tom look perfectly normal by comparison."

"Except Tom WAS normal for a while, Davey, so that's another strike against the Warrior," Hulk pointed out, with a low, almost regretful sigh. He himself had worked successfully several times with Davey's cousin and former tag team partner the Dynamite Kid before the man had had a psychotic breakdown of sorts following a debilitating injury, and was now back in England, a ruined mess estranged from his family. "I don't really know what the appeal with the Warrior is," the world champion mused while staring at the stairwell, as if half expecting the Warrior to come charging back in, "All he really does is bounce around the ring and scream that the gods power him up; sure, the kids seem to love him, but it doesn't change the fact he's so far out there."

"It especially doesn't condone that he doesn't bother signing the kids' autographs either," Bret grumbled, now glaring down the stairwell, "My father always told me, if you can't respect the fans, you have no business being in the business, so someone like him certainly has no place in our group."

"Amen," Davey glanced the other way up the hall, "Surprising Randy didn't come out to confront him, given how much he's said he despises that loony himself."

"Yeah, so if Randy's didn't come out to do that, it stands to reason he's off doing something else..." Hulk mused, a smile creeping across his face...

* * *

><p>"Are you sure it's safe to be out in the park after dark, Randy?" Elizabeth looked a little hesitant as they crossed the street towards the Public Garden.<p>

"Hey, nobody's gonna lay a hand on you in here as long as I can help it," Savage assured her, rubbing her shoulder. He approached a refreshment cart by the gate and set down the ghetto blaster he'd been carrying. "Two bags of popcorn, and a Slim Jim," he told the vendor.

"You sure about that?" the vendor frowned, nonetheless handing over the popcorn.

"OOOOOOOh yeah, I always step into a Slim Jim when I get the chance," the Macho Man proclaimed, handing one bag of popcorn to his wife. The vendor reached down and produced the Slim Jim. "Keep the change," Savage handed him the required money and took a huge bite out of the Slim Jim. "After you," you hooked an arm around Elizabeth's arm and let her lead him into the park, which was reasonably well lit. A few homeless bums lay sprawled on benches and under trees, but few paid them any notice. "Liking it here so far?" he asked her as they made their way around the far side of the pond.

"Yeah, so far; I have wanted to stop by here," she gestured at the park around them, "ever since I read Make Way for Ducklings and Trumpet of the Swan as a girl; it's pretty much as I thought it would be. Oh look," she gestured at several ducks and a pair of swans bobbing near the shore. "Hello there," she approached them, "I don't know if this is against the rules or not, but would you like a midnight snack?"

There came a low honk from one of the swans. "Well, I can guess you're not Louis, since you can say that," she laughed at him, "But enjoy this."

She tossed a fistful of popcorn into the pond, setting off a feeding frenzy among the waterfowl. "Here, a second helping courtesy of the Macho Man, yeah," Savage dumped his entire bag into the pond. "Randy..." Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at him, "I don't know if they can handle all this at once..."

"Well, if any of them start throwing up, I'll just go back to that guy and get some Pepto Bismol off him, yeah," he put an arm around her as they watched the ducks and swans eat away like crazy. "Ready for tomorrow night?" he asked her.

"I guess so, but Randy, I'm not really sure I want to do the Kiss of Death, even in an emergency," she confessed, looking uncomfortable, "That's just not me-and if my family saw that on TV..."

"I thought you said they don't even watch wrestling...?"

"I just know word would get out somehow, and besides, I'm not that kind of woman that would..."

"Yeah, I know, and that's what I like about you; you're not some two-bit sleaze that would do anything to get ahead," he rubbed her hair affectionately, "You've got principles, and that's saying something, yeah. Not to mention a heart as big as all of Kentucky, oh yeah."

"Well, yours is pretty big too," she smiled at him, "I really do appreciate everything you buy for me, Randy; no man in my life ever went that far out of the way for me."

"Well you're special, Elizabeth, and I wouldn't call myself worthy of you if I didn't," he planted a kiss on her cheek, "And as I said in the pool, if you don't want to do the Kiss of Death at all, you don't have to do the Kiss of Death, even if those cowards Volkoff and the Sheik are twisting us into human pretzels."

"Well, I hope it wouldn't come to that, Randy; hopefully you and Hulk can pin them before it comes to that; I worry about your safety in the ring..."

"And that's what I like about you too; to Sherri and every other hack manager out there, I'd just be a disposable cog in their machine; you value me and everyone you help train," he gave her another kiss, this one on the lips. "And now, since we're here, and it's a beautiful summer night-though of course, nothing would ever be as beautiful as you..." he laid the ghetto blaster on the ground and inserted a tape into it, "How about a dance to our special song?"

"A dance in public?" she looked a little uncertain, glancing at the homeless people asleep not far off.

"Why should we worry, when I love you and you love me?" he posed, hitting the play button, "You start, as always."

"Why not?" she shrugged with a smile as the music came up and locked hands with him. "When you came into my life, then I realized, you were the only one..." she began.

"When you came into my life, you made me realize, I was the lucky one," he picked up the verse, putting an arm around her.

"And I never felt like this before," they both sang, moving closer together, "Together; our love will last forever. Together; just you and me forever.."

* * *

><p>"You know, it is kinda sweet," one of the big goons watching the Savages dance on the monitor in the back of the tomato truck parked on the edge of the Public Garden nearest to them sighed, a dreamy expression on his face.<p>

"Snap outta it!" Louie whacked him across the back of the head, "We're whacking them and everyone else, remember!""

"Shouldn't we hit them now?" another goon nearby posed.

"No; too many witnesses, and the cops are too close," Louie pointed to the monitor at a cruiser in fact parked half a block from where they were parked, "But we've got their location IDed. We just gotta follow them and all their friends when they leave tomorrow, and then," he made a slicing gesture across his throat, "Don Raftello becomes the biggest player in the national wrestling racket."


	5. Chapter 5

"This was one of the better hotels I've been in in a while," Andre remarked, satisfied, as he and his teammates came out the door the next morning around eleven.

"Absolutely, big man," Steamboat agreed, scanning up the street, "I don't see him yet, Hulk."

"He'll be here soon enough, Ricky," the champ leaned against a No Parking sign. "Yeah, Tugboat and I go way back," he told the rest of the group, "When I was first starting out, I was really raw. I got my first real push here in the Boston area, in fact, and Tugboat basically took me under his wing and made me a competent wrestler. Even after I'd moved on to other territories, he'd always write and ask me how it was going; no one's been prouder that I made it to the top of the business than him. I could go on about the private just for fun brawls we'd have after..."

A low steam whistle blew up the block, setting off Mathilda barking in her carrier. "I think I see her coming into port now, Hulk," the bulldog's master smiled as the tugboat duckboat pulled back over to the curb in front of the hotel. "All aboard!" an eager Tugboat told them all, popping open the ramp.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain!" Piper flashed a salute and hopped onboard, "Need a hand there, Andre?"

"I think I can make it, Roddy," the Giant sucked in his breath and managed to squeeze onboard. Hunched over, he inched his way to the back of the duckboat for everyone else's courtesy. "This doesn't go too fast, does it?" he asked Tugboat.

"Not in the least, big guy," Tugboat assured him, "No faster than thirty miles an hour at most."

"Still remembering that ride to the airport in Calgary, huh Andre?" Bret gave the Giant a knowing grin, sitting down directly in front of him.

"Please don't remind me, Hitman," Andre blanched.

"What ride?" the Boss Man inquired.

"It was about ten years ago; Andre was late for a plane out of Calgary," Davey explained with a chuckle, taking Steamboat's carrier off him and setting it down next to Mathilda's under his seat, "He'd been staying with the Harts; they insisted they could get him to the airport in time, even though Andre said he could wait for the next one. Bret and his brother got him in the shuttle van, and proceeded to literally go a hundred and fifty through downtown Calgary to the airport, the R.C.M.P. right on their tail all the way. Andre was this close to a coronary by the time they pulled over to the departure gate."

"And I've never got in anything going faster than forty since then," Andre explained, noticeably gripping the sides of the tugboat duckboat hard.

"Well you don't have to worry about anything here, big guy; the most exciting thing on this trip will be all the history you get to take in. Everyone set?" Tugboat looked back at everyone, who nodded and gave him thumbs up. "OK, anchors away then!" he proclaimed, blowing the whistle and pulling out into traffic.

* * *

><p>"There they go, boss," one of the mobsters proclaimed across the street in the Public Garden.<p>

"I'm not blind, you dolt," Louie upbraided him. He scanned up the street. "Ah, just our luck, the Number Forty-Seven's right on schedule," he proclaimed, seeing a city bus pulling up to the curb half a block away. "That's our ticket to do it, gents," he told his fellow goons, "You, you, you, and you," he pointed at each mobster, "Hide you weapons and come with me; the rest of you, stay with the truck and stay in contact."

He and his chosen cohorts slipped their guns under their suits and walked towards the bus. "Spread out evenly inside; I'll handle the driver," he whispered to them, digging out the exact change for the fare. And indeed, once he got onboard, he noticed the seat right behind the driver was empty. He slid into it and watched his colleagues take other seats throughout the bus. Flashing an OK sign out the window at the remaining mobsters clustered around the tomato truck, he leaned back and waited until the bus had pulled out into traffic again. He glanced ahead out the window at the tugboat duckboat at a red light ahead. Time to make the move.

He glanced back to make sure none of the other passengers were looking, then rose up in his seat and subtlely pressed his gun against the back of the driver's head. "Don't shout, don't hit any alarms, don't stop this bus from here on even if they signal for it, pops," he whispered threateningly in the driver's ear, "Unless you want your head blown clean off, you're going to do exactly what I say from here on. First, follow that stupid tugboat car up ahead..."

* * *

><p>"I still think I should be in the main event rather than those clowns Volkoff and the Sheik, Freddie," Flair complained to his manager as the Million Dollar Corporation started streaming out of the Omni Parker a few blocks up.<p>

"Ric, Ric, don't you see the brilliance of the setup here," Blassie assured him, putting an arm around his protege and checking to make sure the Sheik and Volkoff were nowhere near to listen in, "Hogan's going to be weakened no matter what happens tonight-assuming, if our plan goes right, he'll be in any shape to step into the ring at all. You're still the number one contender as far as I know, unless Tunney pulls some cheap trick to cheat you out of it, so once Hogan finishes the contractually obligated matches he's already signed for, the road's clear for you to have another shot at the bum."

"And the rest of us too, when the time comes, Freddie," Perfect leaned over the Classy One's shoulder, frowning, "I aim to be the first man in World Wrestling Federation history to hold two titles at once, and I'm just as deserving of a world title push as..."

"Oh yeah, you're 'perfect,' but you don't got what it takes, big man, WOOOOO!" Flair mocked him, "Maybe, as my executive consultant or something like that, you could share in the glory, but..."

"Excuse me, everyone," the hotel manager came out the front door, just as Perfect started winding up to deck Flair good, "You forgot to pay your room service bill."

"I'll handle this," DiBiase stepped forward and took the bill, "And I think room service is going to be on the house this time," he tore the bill up, "Because when I got my suits back from the laundry room this morning, there was a quarter inch scorch mark on my best tuxedo. So no, I am not paying your room service tab for my teammates, and in fact I insist you immediately fire the housekeeping staff."

"Who on it?"

"The ENTIRE staff, if you don't mind."

"Well Mr. DiBiase, we can't just throw out everyone who works for us over something rather minor like this..."

"Oh I think you can, for a price; Virgil," DiBiase extended a hand to his bodyguard, who slapped several dozen dollar bills into it. "I think five thousand dollars ought to be enough to send those incompetent peons onto welfare where they belong, am I right?"

"Well, we can't really..."

"Virgil," the Million Dollar Man called to his bodyguard again, and got several more thousand dollars. "Is nine grand your price, then?"

"Well..."

"Hey, look who's coming right now," Sherri interrupted, pointing up the street. The tugboat duckboat was steaming up the street. "Well, I say we all give them a little pre-match wakeup, right guys?" Jimmy asked the rest of the Million Dollar Corporation, who cheered enthusiastically and cracked their knuckles in unison. "I thought so," the Mouth of the South grinned darkly, "Earthquake my boy, care to hail them down for us?"

"Glad to, Jimmy," the Walking Natural Disaster stomped out into the middle of the street and grabbed the duckboat by the front bumper as it passed by, lifting it up off the ground. "Hey, hey, hey, what do you think you're doing!" a furious Tugboat shouted at him.

"Earthquake, put this boat down right now, you monstrosity!" Hulk ordered him.

"Whatever you say, Hulkster," Earthquake slammed the duckboat to the ground hard as if he were cracking a whip. Everyone on board jolted around from the bump, which also set off Mathilda howling. The rest of the Million Dollar Corporation surrounded the vehicle, rubbing their hands eagerly. "If you've blown out the transmission on this, buddy, it's coming out of your bank account!" Tugboat threatened Earthquake.

"I'd love to see you make me, big guy!" Earthquake dared him.

"Oh yeah!" Tugboat squeezed out the front window and glared straight into the face of the Walking Natural Disaster, whom he was almost as big as.

"Yeah!"

"Oh yeah!"

"Yeah!"

"Hang on, hang on there," Piper crawled out next to Tugboat. "OK, Mount Everest," he shouted up at Earthquake, "I was hoping to go easy on you till you got in the ring, but if you want to go now, I'm game! Come on, you think you're the big tough guy; give me your best shot; I'm right here, let's see what...!"

With a sharp wave of his arm, Earthquake smacked the Scotsman hard to the concrete. "All right, that was the last straw!" Piper jumped back up, "I'll take on all of you at once; come on!" he dared the entire Million Dollar Corporation, waving his fists at them, "Or are you too chicken to finish what you start!"

"Roddy, come on, it's not worth it," Bret tried to calm him down, "We'll have them later tonight..."

"But I say, why waste the chance to lay it down when you've got it, Hitman?" Flair slapped him across the face and let out still yet another, "WOOOOOO!" Bret growled, but did not retaliate. "Flair, we're going to call the cops if you don't back off," he warned the Nature Boy.

"Oh we're really scared of the cops, Hart," DiBiase all but laughed, "Because all I'd have to do is show them some cold hard cash, and we'll all walk in less than five minutes."

"You, on the other hand, are going to feel some serious pain, even more than you realize," Roberts swung up the front steps, his eyes coldly fixated on Elizabeth. Savage, noticing, jumped up. "Get off this...whatever it is, Snake, or YOU'LL feel the pain!" he threatened him.

"You don't kick a snake in the face and get away with it, my man," Roberts gestured him forward, "Come on, and meet your maker."

"Let's have them all meet their maker!" Earthquake lifted the front bumper up again. "Not while I'm inside, you dope!" Roberts bellowed at him, scrambling for the door.

"Put that down right now!" Tugboat shoved Earthquake hard.

"Like this?" Earthquake dropped it right on Tugboat's foot, then walloped him in the face. "Let's get them!" the Sheik roared, and his teammates started converging on the duckboat. Fortuitously, though, a new voice rang out at the moment. "What seems to be going on here!" demanded a policeman who'd come up from behind without anyone noticing.

"Uh, nothing, nothing at all," Heenan said quickly, "Just, uh, wishing our rivals here good luck tonight at Summer Slam."

"Well, you're holding up traffic," the cop pointed up the street, where a solid line of cars now stood behind the duckboat, their horns blaring in frustration, "So move along, all of you."

"Uh, someone want to drive forward just a little bit?" Tugboat was wincing, the front tire still on top of his foot.

"Coming right up, Tugger," Hulk slid into the driver's seat and inched the duckboat just far enough forward for his friend's foot to be released. Grimacing, Tugboat hopped back onboard behind Piper, who looked disappointed that he didn't get the chance to crack someone wide open. "We'll see you all sometime later," he warned the Million Dollar Corporation, "I might be joining the WWF soon, so I'll be looking for all of you."

"We're not scared of you or anyone!" Blassie shouted back, "And we let you go easy now so we can humiliate you publicly tonight. You hear that, Loony Liz?" he bellowed as the duckboat disappeared up the block, "After tonight, only the retards out there will think you're a better manager than me!"

"I said move, along, all of you," the cop ordered them, waving his nightstick at them.

"We're leaving, we're leaving, keep your shirt on," Jimmy barked back. "What do you think, Earthquake baby, would that guy make a good tag partner with you if we could turn him?" he asked his giant protege as the Million Dollar Corporation headed up the street.

"Hulk's best friend, with us?" Earthquake pondered. Then he laughed hard. "I like it!"

"IF we could turn him," the Sheik mused.

"No problem, Sheik; even friends of the Hulkster have a price for the Million Dollar Man," DiBiase predicted, fondling extra cash in his pocket.

"Anyway, now that we're ready again, it's jog time again," Blassie told his Mega Mercenaries.

"Please, Comrade Blassie, no more; we're ready!" Volkoff pleaded. Blassie seized Jimmy's megaphone. "COMPANY FAAAAAAALL OOOOOOOUT!" he bellowed at them, "We're running all the way to the Garden, got it! Go, go, go...!"

Groaning, the Sheik and Volkoff nonetheless broke into a run-only to dive behind a bench as a bus plowed up the center of the street, sending cars onto the sidewalk. "What's his problem?" the Russian complained.

"He's got no problem, gentlemen," Blassie grinned at the sight of one of the mobsters on the starboard side giving him a thumbs-up, "This is our plan about to fully come together."

* * *

><p>"On your left, here's the Old State House," Tugboat announced, having slid back into the duckboat's driver's seat, "This is Boston's oldest public building, built in 1713. It was there in that circle of stones," he pointed, "that the Boston Massacre took place."<p>

"Ooooooh yeah, I see it," Savage nodded, leaning out the port side, "And that's where they came to see all through the city that George III was a bigger royal pain than Harley Race."

Tugboat chuckled softly. "Yeah, I've seen him in action too, Macho; good thing he's not as intolerable as George, huh?" he quipped.

"As long as you mean George III there, Tugger; I still can't stand George Steele; the way he leers at Elizabeth in the locker room..."

"I don't think he's all that bad; certainly he's harmless as far as I can see," the First Lady of Wrestling offered a defense of the Animal. She consulted the map of the tour in her lap. "Faneuil Hall's next?"

"Right up here," Tugboat pointed to it as they drove past it, "Built by merchant Peter Faneuil when this whole area was on the waterfront," he gestured out the starboard side, "Meant to be a..."

Suddenly, without warning, the duckboat was rammed hard from behind, sending everyone flying forward in their seats. "Now what?" Tugboat furiously spun to see the mobster's bus right on his rear bumper. "Hey pal, watch where you're going!" he shouted at it, "This isn't a...!"

With a loud blare of the horn, the bus rammed the duckboat again, then sped up alongside it and slammed into it, sending it onto the sidewalk. "What is all this!" Piper furiously demanded, "Is the dope drunk or something?"

"I don't think so, Roddy; I think this guy, whoever he is, means business," Bret looked deathly worried, clearly noticing panicked people on board the bus, which swerved towards the duckboat again. "Lose him, quick!" the Hitman ordered Tugboat, who spun the wheel far enough to the right to make the colission a mere tap this time.

"I'll do what I can," Tugboat looked worried himself, "But if I can't find an outlet quick, Mr. Hart, it just might be the end for us..."


	6. Chapter 6

Van, van, van!" Davey pointed to one trying to beat a red light in the intersection in front of them. Tugboat swerved just in time to avoid it, but the bus, its horn still blaring like there was no tomorrow, rammed straight into it. It sped up and tried to ram the duck boat again, with only another last minute swerve from Tugboat avoiding this. "How much further to the river?" the British Bulldog had to shout to be heard over the bus's horn.

"If we can get down the hill to the harbor, I think we should be fine; certainly they can't...oh no, down!"

He slouched down far in his sear. For the bus's doors had slid open, and gunmen started firing at the duck boat. The Rock 'n Wrestling Connection dove to the floor, covering their heads. "How did we get ourselves into this!" Tito lamented.

"Well we don't have to take this, no way!" Savage started to rise up, furious, but dove back on top of Elizabeth on the floor as another spray of bullets raked the duck boat, "I say we stand and face them head-on, oh yeah!"

"Uh, Randy, if you're suggesting we play chicken with them, I'd strongly advise no," Bret brought him back to earth, "Even if we could survive a head-on collision, the passengers on the bus might get hurt, and certainly none of us wants that on our consciences, right?"

"Right," the Macho Man conceded, "But what do we do then?"

"Turnoff, Old North Church!" Tugboat abruptly spun the wheel to the left, "They might get through the courtyard, but they can't get through the walkway to the other side."

"Good thinking, Tugger," Hulk commended him. He dared to stand up as they zoomed past Paul Revere's statue out front, Tugboat blowing the duck boat's tugboat whistle to get the panicked people in the courtyard out of the way. The Hulkster's expression crashed, though, when the bus did in fact continue after them through the walkway, momentarily getting stuck, but then breaking through after them. Hulk took in the damage to the side of the Old North Church this had caused, and a rage built up within him. "That does it!" he roared, rising completely upright, "You can shoot at me, but when you deliberately damage an American icon to do it, that goes too far! Now they've made me MAAAAAADD!"

"Hulk, what are you doing!?" Elizabeth shouted at him as he seized a metal case carrying Tugboat's life vest that had been under their driver's seat, rushed to the back of the duck boat, briefly ducked another spray of bullets, then flung the heavy case at the gunman looking out the driver's window. It bonked the gunman in the head and send him falling forward onto the driver, who let go of the wheel long enough for the bus to swerve sideways out of control and smash hard into a telephone pole, then flip over onto its side from the force of the impact. Tugboat screeched the duck boat to a stop. "Good thinking," he commended his friend.

"Uh, well actually, I was just trying to startle him enough to break off..." Hulk confessed.

"Well, I say we make sure they can't start shooting again once they recover. Come on everyone!" the Boss Man drew his nightstick and handcuffs and leaped off the duck boat, everyone hesitantly falling in. "Just be careful, Boss Man; no knowing how many bullets they have left," Bret advised. "Tugboat, better break off the tour and take anyone who might be hurt onboard that wasn't shooting at us to the hospital."

"No problem...oh no you don't!" Tugboat stormed up and kicked the guns away from the mobsters climbing out the rear door, "On the ground, hands behind your heads!"

Gulping at Tugboat's size, most of the mobsters complied, although one did take off running in terror. "Same with you; weapons on the ground, hands behind your heads!" the Boss Man ordered, seizing the weapons of the mobsters crawling out the front door, "Who's in charge here?"

"Well Louie here runs the..." one of them mobsters pointed to him.

"Shut up, you imbecile!" Louie stopped him a hair too late. The Boss Man heaved him up by the collar. "OK boy," he snarled, hefting his handcuffs and locking Louie's wrist to the bus's rearview mirror, "I want the whole story out of you! I want some answers on who sent you and I want them now!"

He waved his nightstick in the mobster's face for extra effect. "I ain't scared of you, copper," Louie sneered, "And you can't force no confession outta me."

"Maybe I can't, but I certainly know who can; Andre," the Boss Man called to the Giant, who stepped menacingly forward, "Show this guy what you might want to do to him if he keeps being a hardcase."

Andre picked up one of the hubcaps that had come off the bus and casually crushed it flat with his bare hands. Louie's eyes went wide in terror. "OK, OK, I'll tell you everything!" he all but shrieked.

"That's more like it, boy," the Boss Man nodded at the Giant, "Now, spill it, every last detail..."

* * *

><p>"Here we are, all in the same day," Blassie declared, pushing open the rear door to the Boston Garden, "Now that wasn't so bad, was it boys?"<p>

Completely winded, the Sheik and Volkoff collapsed in a heap at their manager's feet. "Ah, don't worry about it; you've got at least two hours to recover until you're out in the ring," the Classy One hauled them back to their feet. "Martel, keep them working hard until it's main event time," he instructed Sherri, ignoring his men's groans.

"Like what? Mind you, Freddie, I'm joining Bobby in Perfect's corner tonight, maybe someone else's if I deem it necessary, and I don't want to be babysitting these two clowns all night," she protested, stepping aside while the rest of the Million Dollar Corporation filed into the building.

"It's no biggie, Martel; just have them keep hitting the punching bags until it's time to go on," Blassie encouraged her.

"Back in Japan, there is old saying: he who puts too much fertilizer on rice gets more than he bargained for," came a new voice from around the corner, "However, mileage may vary with that particular proverb."

"Ah, Fuji-san, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois," Heenan gave a deep bow to the formally dressed Mr. Fuji, who was standing right around the corner, cane in hand. For many years, Fuji had been a championship-caliber wrestler in the WWF, winning the tag team titles several times, and had made a smooth transition to managing in the years since, although he thus far had declined to have his stable join the Million Dollar Corporation, despite many of its members having the requirements the other managers liked. Standing behind the Devious One, cracking their knuckles in preparation for the evening ahead, were the squat but well-muscled Don Muraco, the huge, balding, bearded, and face-painted Powers of Pain, and the gigantic sumo champion Yokozuna, all among Fuji's most prized pupils at the present. "Your humor is most unusual, Mr. Heenan," Fuji told the Brain calmly, "Strange, perhaps insensitive, but somehow likeable."

"Ah, good you've still got that old sense of humor, Fuji my boy," Blassie told him jovially, "Like Bobby and the rest of us keep telling you, the offer to join up with us is still there; all your guys here, for instance, might make good additions to our little conglomerate."

"Your offer most appreciated, Classy Freddie, but the Fuji Stable is doing quite well at the moment on its own," Fuji reiterated his stance. Blassie had his suspicions that Fuji was mixed up with the Yakuza back home in Japan, and was likely hesitant about getting in too far over his head. "Well, thanks anyway, and good luck to your boys here tonight," he nodded at Fuji's men.

"I don't need luck; I've got the Ultimate Warrior beat already," Muraco confidently proclaimed, "All it's going to take is a few quick blows, and down he goes."

"Preferably with blood gushing out of his nose," Heenan burst out laughing. "A joke; nose, blows..." he glanced among everyone else, frowning deeply at him. "Boy, tough crowd," he mused to himself.

"How about you all; you prepared to handle Hogan and friends tonight?" Fuji asked them.

"Oh don't worry about Hogan, Fuji; if he shows up here tonight, he'll be in too bad of shape to be much of a threat to any of us, him and his dummy friends," Jimmy predicted confidently. No sooner were the words out of his mouth, though, than there came the unmistakable sound of a bulldog barking outside the building, followed by Piper declaring, "There they are there; I say we tear them all to pieces where they stand!"

"Let me handle this, Roddy," Hulk pushed his way through the door, looking steamed. "Blassie," he stormed up to his former manager, "Our ride nearly got run off the road earlier today, and we were shot at too. When we stopped the people behind it, they didn't name you, but I'm pretty sure you had something to do with this!"

"Prove it, you pencil-neck geek," Blassie dared him, "Yeah, you can't, can you?" he smirked as Hulk shook his head softly, "Well for the record, I don't know anything, Hogan, so stop leaping down my throat and all our throats every time something goes wrong for you."

"In fact, we'd be willing, out of the goodness of our hearts, to drive you or any of your cohorts to the hospital for whatever aid you might need," Heenan offered with a little too much sincerity, prompting the other managers to give him a stern, "Shut up" glare."

"We're just fine, thank you very much," Savage, also looking ticked, led the rest of the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection through the door, "But even if we can't prove it was any of you, I'd bet ever one of DiBiase's cents you all cooked it up, yeah!"

"Savage, you don't have the financial standing to talk about my money," DiBiase leaned right in the Macho Man's face, "And if you want to finish what we almost started by the hotel earlier, I'll be glad to finish; we'd all be glad to finish, won't we?" he asked his teammates, who nodded darkly.

"Good, because we're in a finishing kind of mood! Hey, Gargantua, here's a knuckle sandwich for a snack!" Piper swung and connected with Earthquake's chest. With a loud growl, the Walking Natural Disaster seized Piper by the throat and lifted him off the ground. "OK, maybe I went a hair too far," Piper conceded in a weak voice as he was choked out...

"What's going on here!?" the furious voice of WWF President Jack Tunney echoed loudly up the hall. "Earthquake, drop him this instant," he ordered the huge man.

"If you say so, Mr. Tunney," Earthquake casually let go of Piper, sending him tumbling to the floor. "How many times have I told all of you to stop going for each other's throats every chance you get!?" Tunney glared between both teams, "You're setting a bad example for all the kids who have come to see you in action tonight."

"And how many times have I said, Tunney, that I don't give a damn what the rotten kids think or...!?" Roberts started to protest.

"Shut up, Jake," Tunney cut him off, "Now off to your dressing rooms, all of you; curtain is in twenty minutes," he ordered them all, "You too, Fuji."

"With the utmost respect, Mr. Tunney, my men and I were just standing here, not fighting with anyone," Fuji asserted. When Tunney still glared at him, he nodded, "Very well. Don, Warlord, Barbarian, Yokozuna, let us make final preparations for our big night."

The five of them shuffled off, followed by the others splitting off towards their own dressing rooms. "Oh, Mr. Tunney," Tugboat came through the rear doors as the hall emptied and shook the company president's hand, "Fred 'Tugboat' Ottman; we spoke on the phone. I know you're busy, but you promised me that audition...?"

"Yeah, yeah, I did, Mr. Ottman; tell you what, I'll give you a front row seat, and once Summer Slam's over with, I can match you up with some spare talent in the ring," Tunney assured him, "That way, you'll..."

"Shouldn't we have told Tunney what we thought?" Steamboat asked Hulk, snapping his attention from the conversation behind them.

"Without solid proof, Ricky, it's just our word against Blassie's," Hulk shook his head, "And like Tunney says, we can't seem like we're picking a fight for the heck of it."

"I knew I should have tried to extract more out of those punks," the Boss Man grumbled.

"Well Boss Man, any harder measures would have nullified the charges against them once the cops showed up," Bret reminded him, "We have to stay within the boundaries of the law if we want to remain heroes. Look at it this way, though: we still helped break up a major criminal syndicate from what he spilled to us, and even if we can't prove Blassie and his cronies helped order this, we can still get the better of them in the ring tonight."

"Absolutely, Hitman," Hulk agreed, "So let's all try and put all those Million Dollar bums out for the count tonight, as a way of showing them we're still better than them even after they pull this, and for everyone on that bus."

* * *

><p>"So, I guess you ladies never thought you'd be spending the weekend with me, watching a wrestling extravaganza," Don Vincenelli told the two attractive blondes sharing his beach chair by his pool.<p>

"So, you control all the wrestling in the country?" one of them asked him, wide-eyed in awe.

"Not yet, babe, but I'm working on it. A little more leverage is all it's going to take...ah, Slick," he greeted the formally dressed African-American that had approached from behind, "Ladies, meet Slick; he's technically the mastermind of my national gambling network; he runs all the money dens and computer betting services. How's it looking, Slick?"

"Pretty good, brother," Slick informed him, "We've got over five thousand fools locking in with bids over who's going to win; I think we got our biggest payday yet coming."

"Maybe not," the don's nephew came running up, "Uh, bad news, Uncle Kenny: word just got out of a big mob bust up in Boston; looks like the guy Blassie hired to hurt up Hogan's in custody," he rambled out.

"Huh?" Don Vincenelli frowned, "Where this come out, Stefano?"

"It's on Headline News; they're going on and on about it; I just hope they didn't pin it on us," Stefano related.

"Patrizio, TV; Headline News," the don called to his bodyguard, who wheeled over a set to his boss's beach chair, turned it on, and switched to Headline News's channel. Sure enough, a news report on the arrest of most of Don Raftello's mob was broadcasting. "Damn it, Raftello!" Vincenelli grumbled, smashing his cocktail glass on the ground, "I should have known that sneak would try and pull a double-cross and go too far! Well he'd better keep his mouth shut, or I'll make sure he's rubbed out in prison before he ever gets to the courtroom."

"Speaking of rubbing out, Uncle Kenny, I don't just see why we don't rub out Hogan and his buddies," Stefano posed, "I mean, you whacked Bruiser Brody real good..."

"Stefano, I had to whack Brody; he was going to blow the whistle on everything about our operation," his uncle told him firmly, "If I didn't arrange it for him to be stabbed in that shower, we'd all be in the feds' custody right now. Besides, he was a nobody in the grand scheme of things; hit Hogan, and there'll be an uproar like you won't believe. No, we gotta let him go for now; once I control the WWF, then we might be able to squeeze him out; till then, we just gotta hope Blassie and the rest of our clients can come up with the perfect way get me my titles."

"Speaking of all that, Don V., it's about ten minutes till Summer Slam now," Slick was checking his watch.

"What? Oh, yeah, guess I lost track of time," the don checked his own watch, "OK Slick, get on the main console and keep track of the money as it flows in," he ordered him, "Patrizio, the pay-per-view channel," he instructed his bodyguard, who switched to it. "So just sit back and relax, ladies," he cuddled his dates close, "You're going to have a good time tonight, I can guarantee you that much."


	7. Chapter 7

"You and your shortcuts!" Monsoon complained to Jesse Ventura as they rushed through the back doors of the Garden, "I told you we should have taken the T...!"

"Hey calm down, Monsoon, it's not like we missed the show or anything," Ventura protested.

"You know how Tunney doesn't like talent cutting it close...Mr. Tunney," Monsoon acknowledged the company president in fact bustling towards them.

"Where have you two been!?" Tunney berated them, "We were this close to putting up a slide saying we had technical difficulties...!"

"Jesse insisted he knew a shortcut from the hotel; we got bottled up in rush hour traffic instead," Monsoon explained calmly.

"Yeah, it's always MY fault, Gorilla, I can't help noticing that..." Ventura started to snipe at him.

"Never mind, just get on headset, A.S.A.P.; we're six minutes to air," Tunney waved them up the tunnel towards the arena, where a loud cheering crowd could already be heard. "OK, Eddie, they're here," he shouted into his own headset, "Let the truck know to continue the countdown like normal unless something else comes up; get McMahon on headset in the audio booth for the opening spiel..."

"Well that's the one silver lining of working with you; it's better than having to do this with that buffoon McMahon," Ventura grumbled to Monsoon as they hurried towards the curtains to the arena.

"Well likewise, better you than the Brain, not that that counts for much," Monsoon grumbled back, high-fiving fans along the aisle as they stepped through the curtain and pushed towards the broadcast position near ringside, "You don't like working with a lot of people, do you, Jesse?"

"And since they don't like working with me, that's just fine with me," the Body snorted, ignoring high-five requests from the fans.

"Still bitter that your career ended too early, aren't you?"

"Monsoon, when I want your opinion, I'll ask for it," Ventura climbed up the steps to the broadcast table, slid into his seat, and slipped his headphones on. "Testing, one, two, three; if you can't hear this, you need to see an ear doctor," he shouted nearly at the top of his lungs.

"More politely, I'm testing now: one, two, three, four five," Monsoon said not as loudly into his headphones.

"Roger, we got you both," the director acknowledged, "Stand by: three minutes to air."

"Roger," Monsoon leaned back in his seat and scanned the wild, cheering crowds all around them. "Boy, I never thought it would come to this, ever," he mused, proud, "All those years of toiling in those dives, and now we're the hottest thing since sliced bread. Doesn't it feel great to be part of a cultural phenomenon, Jesse?"

"Yeah, whatever," Ventura muttered, shifting his hat around on his head and digging out a military magazine.

"I think that more or less proves you're bitter, Jesse; you know, you couldn't control that injury from happening," Monsoon advised his broadcast partner, switching on the TVs in front of them just as the color bars on the screen went to black in preparation for the broadcast, "I've seen freak accidents happen all the time over the last thirty years; you..."

"I don't care what you think, Monsoon," Ventura shot back at him, not taking his eyes off the magazine, "And don't drag Hogan into this conversation, because I'll have a stroke if you compare me to that clown who isn't worth the sweat off my back."

"Jealous too, I see. You know, Jesse, you ought to appreciate your position here at the broadcast booth," Monsoon pointed out, "And if you look close, you may note that despite all your efforts to get viewers to despise you for your patently biased commentary, you've really made a standout career for yourself here on the mike..."

"Biased? Let's get one thing straight, Monsoon: you and McMahon are the biased ones," Ventura shoved a finger in his partner's face, "You can't find a single fault in Hogan even though he's the biggest cheater in the sport since..."

"Jesse, put the magazine away; I want total concentration from both of you," Tunney shouted up at them from the ringside seat he was sitting down in, "You're on in one minute."

"Yes, Dad," the Body muttered, stuffing the magazine into his pant pocket. The crowd was getting restless, eager for the card to begin. Soon a count began on the video screen above the ring, starting at thirty; most of the fans started counting with it. "This is it: ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, cue intro graphics," the director ordered in the production truck, "Cue McMahon; keep it under forty, Vince."

"It's time to FEEL THE HEAT, WITH SUMMER SLAAAAAAMMMM!" Ventura's other broadcast partner roared ecstatically in his audio booth in the truck as the introductory graphics rolled across Monsoon and Ventura's TVs, "The World Wrestling Federation proudly presents an end of summer spectacular, featuring an all out war in this forty foot steel cage! It's the Mega Powers versus the Mega Mercenaries, as WWF champion Hulk Hogan and the Macho Man Randy Savage defend America's honor against the insidious Iron Sheik and Nikolai Volkoff! So sit back, relax, and get ready for hot and heavy action; GET READY FOR SUUUUMMMMMER SLAAAAAAAAAMMMM!"

"Cue the arena live wide shot," the director ordered, "OK, hit it, Gorilla."

Monsoon cleared his throat as the red light went on in front of his console. "You can just feel the electricity here in the Boston Garden as the World Wrestling Federation proudly presents to you Summer Slam!" he proclaimed grandly, "Hello again everyone, we're so glad you've chosen to join us tonight; I'm Gorilla Monsoon, joined this evening by Jesse 'the Body' Ventura, and have we got an action packed card for you tonight."

"You know Monsoon, I haven't been this pumped up since my career ended," Ventura declared, "And like I said in the tunnel, what makes this even better is that I get to work with you rather than that numbskull McMahon who doesn't know his headquarters from his hindquarters."

"A full slate of matches among the best superstars in the world is coming your way in a few moments, all leading up to our big steel cage main event, the Mega Powers versus the Mega Mercenaries, I for one can't wait for that, Jesse," Monsoon ignored the crack towards McMahon, "It looks like everything's all set in the ring, so let's go down to Howard Finkel for the first match of the evening."

The bell rang loudly, echoing through the arena. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the opening bout of Summer Slam!" Finkel grandly proclaimed. After taking a moment for applause, he continued, "It is scheduled for one fall. Now coming down the aisle, accompanied by his manager, the Mouth of the South, Jimmy Hart, from Vancouver, British Columbia, weighing 468 pounds, the Earthquake!"

"The earth shaking right now, you can feel the Garden rocking as the big guy comes on out with that little runt Jimmy Hart," Monsoon remarked as a wild, arm-waving Jimmy led Earthquake down the aisle to the ring, "Earthquake has boasted that his intention in this match is to end Rowdy Roddy Piper's career for good, just like the careers of just about everyone he's faced so far here in the WWF."

"And I think he has a pretty good chance of that, Monsoon; I don't see how Piper can possibly win against the Earthquake," Ventura opined, "Why he even bothered signing up for this match when everyone else Earthquake's fought so far's been carried out on stretchers, I don't know, but then again the words 'Piper' and 'smarts' don't go together in the same sentence half the time anyway."

"Nor do smarts go together with this brute half the time either...whoa, now you really feel it!" Monsoon exclaimed as Earthquake climbed into the ring, bounced back and forth between the ropes, and stomped hard on the ground. "I want Piper!" the Walking Natural Disaster yelled audibly to the entire arena, "Bring him out here right now!"

He got an immediate answer as a drumroll commenced, followed by bagpipes, sending the crowd into a roar. "His opponent," Finkel continued, "from Glasgow, Scotland, weighing 232 pounds, here is 'Rowdy' Roddy Piper!"

"Hot Rod looking real determined; he doesn't care about the odds against him, Jess; he's just making sure all his fans get the best match he can give them," Monsoon declared as Piper came out from the curtain, a look of cold determination in fact welded on his face.

"Which I'm wagering will be over in a matter of seconds right after the bell rings; determination can only get you so far," Ventura snorted derisively, "I used to like Piper, Monsoon, but after he got mixed up with Hogan, he turned soft."

"Actually, I think Piper has gotten better since he called a truce with the Hulkster and joined the Mega Powers Rock 'n Wrestling Connection. Now he's stepping into the ring, he's pointing at Earthquake; can't make out what he's yelling at him...look out, Earthquake coming straight at him..."

Earthquake indeed crushed Piper hard into the corner as the bell rang to start the match. "Earthquake off to a fast start in this one," Monsoon related to the home viewers, "Picks Hot Rod up; big body slam...and he's going for the cover already; it might end in less than ten seconds; one, two...kickout by Piper. Now a kick to the side by Earthquake...the big guy casually walks right on top of Piper, looks like he's laughing."

"Well why shouldn't he; it's clear Piper wasn't ready for this one, Monsoon. Earthquake might not have gotten that first pin, but I predict it'll end pretty soon after this."

"We shall see. Earthquake going to pick him up again-no, Piper with an elbow to the chest, and another one. Off the ropes, a flying tackle...right into Earthquake's waiting arms. Backbreaker by the big guy, and a beauty. Here's another cover, one...Piper kicks out again; he still hasn't taken off his ring gear yet. Earthquake with a whip into the corner, raises the boot...and Piper ducks underneath it, rams him headlong in the chest!" he proclaimed as Piper's ram-like charge into Earthquake sent the Walking Natural Disaster reeling backwards and erupted the building into a loud applause.

"Still on his feet though, Gorilla; it's going to take an awful lot more than that to bring him down to the mat for the pin."

"Piper finally removing his shirt and kilt, still has the belt though...whoa, Hot Rod whipping Earthquake with the belt!" he proclaimed, Earthquake's howls from each slap echoing loudly even near the broadcast position.

"Now that should be an automatic disqualification right there, Gorilla; Piper has absolutely no right to resort to these kind of filthy tactics," Ventura groused.

"Hang on, Earthquake yanking the belt off him, now he's wrapping...he's choking Piper out with it, come on!" Monsoon protested the action, "You want to talk about disqualifications, Jesse, this is cause for disqualification!"

"No it ain't, because Piper started it; turnabout is fair play, Monsoon."

"Finally Earthquake letting go; Piper looking a whole lot worse for wear. A hard stomp to the chest, and another. Earthquake with another cover: one, two...ah, his foot's on the ropes. So far, Roddy not mounting much offense in this one, as he's flung hard into the corner. Here comes another big splash...which misses!" he exclaimed as Piper lurched out of the way just in time. A stunned Earthquake stumbled backwards towards the center of the ring, an easy target for Piper to bounce of the ropes and launch straight into him. Earthquake reeled hard but remained on his feet. Another flying tackle still failed to bring him down. Piper rushed into the ropes for a third...

"Whoa, trip by Jimmy Hart, come on!" Monsoon protested as the Mouth of the South grabbed Piper by the legs and toppled him before he could lunge towards Earthquake again, "That little runt never knows when to...hang on, Piper lifting Hart up by the collar!" he exclaimed. A look of pure rage was plastered on Piper's face as he hefted Jimmy, who was screeching, "I DIDN'T DO NOTHING; I DIDN'T DO NOTHING!" at the top of his lungs, up over his head to a tremendous cheer and hurled the manager straight at Earthquake. The impact sent both men toppling over the ropes out of the ring on the far side. "Hot Rod finally brings Earthquake down the hard way!" Monsoon declared grandly.

"And if THAT'S not the most flagrant cause for a disqualification, I don't know what is!" Ventura roared, "Piper should not be touching Jimmy Hart at all; the ref should have tossed him now; in fact, should have tossed him right at the beginning of the match if you ask me!"

"You saw what Jimmy Hart did, Jesse," Monsoon pointed out to him, "Piper was merely putting him in his place for it. Referee Jim Korderas in fact offering him a brief warning now..."

"Yeah, too little too late. I don't know why Danny Davis was the only ref in the WWF to go down for being on the take, when half the others make even more questionable..."

"Hot Rod climbing up to the top rope, looks like he's going to use some aerial tactics on the big guy," Monsoon ignored him, "Here he comes...oooooh, look at that, caught right in the chest!" he groaned. For Earthquake, seeing Piper coming, had grabbed Jimmy's megaphone where it had fallen and, unseen by Korderas, clobbered the Scotsman in the chest with it as he flew down towards him. Piper crumpled to the mats, gasping. "Good work, Quake baby," Jimmy commended his protégé, rising and dusting himself off, "A few quick hard blows, then let's finish him with a seven on the Richter scale."

Laughing, Earthquake picked Piper up and tossed him like a rag doll into the ringpost. He rolled into the ring as Korderas's count reached eight, dragged Piper in with a little help from Jimmy, whipped him into the ropes and give him a sharp kick to the face that sent Piper spiraling downwards limply. "Just like that, the tide has turned," Monsoon lamented.

"Oh yeah, here we go," Ventura declared enthusiastically as Earthquake began stomping the mat in a semicircle around the prostrate Piper, "This is it; it's over for Piper. No one gets up from an Earthquake."

"So it would appear; Earthquake about to drop his devastating finisher here...ooooooh no, that's going to hurt," Monsoon grimaced once Earthquake had bounced twice off the ropes and then jumped directly on top of Piper with his entire weight, "Forget about it, it's over."

And indeed, the referee counted straight to three this time. Earthquake rose up and confidently raised his arms in victory as Finkel declared, "Here is your winner: Earthquake!" He glared down at Piper and kicked him over onto his back, a sick smile starting to form on his face. Then without warning, he bounced off the ropes again. "Oh come on, give me a break, not again!" Monsoon groaned, but he was powerless to stop the Walking Natural Disaster from giving Piper another devastating Earthquake. "Beautiful, Quake baby, beautiful!" Jimmy commended his protégé over the megaphone, high-fiving him once he leaped into the ring to congratulate him, "Now give him a full-on ten on the Richter scale! Give him the ten, baby!"

He leaped out of the way as Earthquake indeed delivered another gratuitous Earthquake to Piper, who was now moaning in agony. He started to bounce off the ropes again for a fourth one, but a stream of WWF officials poured into the ring and blocked his path. "Finally, some order being restored here, Jimmy Hart leading the Earthquake out of the ring, the damage already done," Monsoon called the action, "And here comes another stretcher, so Piper has ended up with the same fate as the rest of Earthquake's opponents so far."

"Was there ever REALLY any doubt, Monsoon?" Ventura almost laughed as he watched the doctors roll the still prostrate Piper onto the stretcher and carry him out, "If this is the end of Piper's career, all the better for the WWF; then none of us'll have to listen to his incessant rantings anymore."

"You know Jess, that's why people don't like you; when you call for the same thing that happened to you to happen to someone else, it's a major turnoff for viewers," Monsoon glared at him. "Let's take a look at the replay here: Piper was just starting to get the momentum back in his favor when THIS happened," the picture paused at the moment Earthquake walloped Piper with the megaphone, "and it was all down hill from there for Hot Rod."

"Not that it really made much difference, Monsoon; Piper clearly was outclassed from the beginning and would have lost in the end either way."

As to that, Jesse, we may never know. We'll keep you at home updated with any reports on Piper's condition that may come out; in the meantime, we'll take you to Mean Gene Okerlund, who's standing by with Mr. Fuji and the Powers of Pain..."


	8. Chapter 8

"Just hold tight, Roddy, you're in good hands now," a worried Hulk assured Piper, now on the examination table in the doctor's room backstage.

"I'll believe...aaaaaaaahhh, don't touch the chest!" Piper yelped in agony to the doctors when they did just that.

"Sorry Mr. Piper, but you know how the examination goes," one of the doctors informed him.

"He will be OK though, won't he?" an equally concerned Elizabeth asked.

"Looks like some cracked ribs, so he'll probably be off his feet for at least a month or two; I think, though, he should be able to wrestle at full strength again once he heals," the head doctor laid it out for her.

"And that walking mound of blubber better head for the hills once that day comes, because from here on it's blood!" Piper vowed, "I'm putting that cheating monstrosity in his place, and boy oh boy, it won't be pretty once that day comes!"

"OK, Roddy, but till then, just try and take it easy-sorry, I forgot," Bret apologized after he inadvertently touched Piper's sore spot on the chest again, making the Scotsman howl in pain once more, "Don't let this eat you up like...oh no."

For the Warrior had just entered the room. He glanced Piper over. "How bad?" he asked solemnly.

"Cracked ribs; two months, Warrior," Hulk said, "But the..."

"You see, this is the message from the gods!" the Warrior ranted, raising his arms over his head dramatically, "That I am to join the elites and become an immortal!"

"You're not taking my place, buster; you can take it when you pry it from my cold, dead fingers!" Piper bellowed at him.

"Then I am prepared to face the challenge and go one on one with you once the time is right, to prove once and for all who is most worthy to...!"

"N-O; we don't take new members like that!" Savage yanked off his shades and glared right into the Warrior's face, "And furthermore, we certainly don't take no looneys no matter what! Now don't you got a match of your own to worry about!?"

"I shall prove tonight that this is fate, that this is my destiny!" the Warrior bellowed loud enough to make the doctors cringe in discomfort.

"Shoo shoo shoo!" the Macho Man waved his arms wildly, chasing the Warrior out the door. "If the gods want to send him a message, they should drop a comet on his head, yeah," he grumbled.

"Well, I wouldn't go THAT far, Randy," Hulk disagreed, although he did agree the Warrior needed to take a different tact to make a point than yelling at the top of his lungs incoherently half the time.

"Oop, looks like I'd better get going; I'm on after this match," Bret glanced at the TV on the nearest shelf, on which Fuji was now leading the Powers of Pain down to the ring, "Wish me luck."

"Good luck, Bret," Hulk encouraged him, "Perfect's no match for you, and he knows it."

"So give him a 'perfect' beatdown for me, huh?" Piper chuckled, but grimacing from the pain.

"You got it," the Hitman pointed knowingly at the Scotsman and left the room. Hulk turned his attention to the TV set. "I'd hate having to face either of these guys in singles action; they've shown themselves to be pretty rough customers," he remarked at the sight of the Warlord and Barbarian climbing into the ring and getting some last minute instructions from Fuji.

"I used to think they were sort of reasonable when they first came here, but once they fell in with Fuji, it became clear they were just plain old fashioned brutes," Steamboat shook his head.

"Well if anyone can stop them cold, it's Hawk and Animal-and here we go," the champ smiled softly as Hawk's trademark roar of, "OOOOOOOOOOHH, WHAT A RUSH!" bellowed over the loudspeakers in the arena, sending the crowd into a frenzy. Moments later, the surprising sound of motorcycle engines revving up filled the arena. "Now what've we got here?" Piper managed to twist around on the operating table to get a better look, "I'd say...aha, nice," he proclaimed as the Legion of Doom roared into the arena behind their manager, 'Precious' Paul Ellering, on motorcycles, "Good idea, Paul; maybe that'll intimidate those bullies a bit more."

"Anyone who doesn't fear L.O.D. is dead, Hot Rod, yeah," Savage told him, "If we ever wanted to take on a tag team into the R. 'n W. C., they'd be my first pick to..."

"Shhhh," Hulk held up his hand, "I'm trying to study what goes on, Randy; maybe it'll be helpful for us later on." He glanced intently at the screen, watching the two teams glare each other down...

* * *

><p>"Legion of Doom showing no fear at all as they stare down these two behemoths," Monsoon related for the home audience at the broadcast position, "Of course, Jesse, also watching this match intensely is tag team champs Demolition, who as you'll recall last week declared that they would in fact face the winner of this match for the belts at the next Saturday Night's Main Event, so a lot more riding on this one that we'd first expected."<p>

"That is, of course, as long as they manage to defeat the Brainbusters later on, which as we both know is no easy task," Ventura pointed out, "Of course, if they do prevail, this should be a good match hypothetically regardless of who wins this; Legion of Doom knows every brutal tactic in the book, and the Powers of Pain are well built for a title run if they get the chance."

"I'm wondering who in fact Demolition would be more willing to face; on the one hand, Jesse, you have the Legion of Doom, who have easily established themselves as one of the greatest tag teams out there and whom a match with would more than justify Demolition's standing as worthy champs if they proved successful; on the other hand, it's no secret Ax and Smash despise the Powers of Pain and would take great satisfaction in beating them to a pulp in a title match."

"What you mean, Gorilla, is that Ax and Smash are still sore losers that they weren't good enough for Fuji, and the Warlord and Barbarian are."

"You're referring of course, Jess, to last year's Survivor Series, where Mr. Fuji, then the manager of Demolition, stabbed them in the back halfway through the match and went with the Powers of Pain instead, which I and millions of fans out there saw instead as a gutless maneuver on Fuji's part."

"Well you see it how you want, and I'll..."

"Here's the bell; it's Hawk versus the Barbarian to start things off," Monsoon returned to the action at ringside, "The two of them locking up, trying to overpower the other...and Barbarian with a kick to the chest out of nowhere. Whips him into the ropes, and another kick to the face. A tag to the Warlord, who flings Hawk into the corner, charges at him...and misses. Hawk with a quick tag to Animal, who flattens the Warlord with an elbow. Picks him up; big body slam. A cover: one, two...no, Barbarian runs in and makes the save. Referee Mike Chioda chases him off while Animal flips the Warlord into the ropes, kick to the face sends him to the mat. Tag to Hawk, he's heading up to the top rope; this could be trouble for the Warlord."

"Really, Powers of Pain have been a little slow so far, Gorilla; if they don't pick it up soon, it could be over quick."

"Flying tackle by Hawk; another cover...and another save by the Barbarian; get him out on the apron where he belongs, ref!"

"Control yourself, Gorilla; you'll get the blood pressure too high if you get too worked up over these things."

"Arm drag by Hawk takes the Warlord down again," Monsoon ignored him, "Flings him into the corner, charges, jumps on his shoulders, and here we go with the punches," he nodded as Hawk slugged the Warlord ten times in the face before jumping down. A dazed Warlord staggered around the ring, while Hawk then bounced into the ropes himself for a back jump...

Only to be bashed in the back of the head by the Barbarian, who'd rushed up behind him. "A real cheap shot there by the Barbarian!" Monsoon complained, "Warlord now collecting himself, picks Hawk up-what a powerslam! Cover...no, only two. Hard slap across the face sends Hawk down again; Hawk crawling towards his corner-no, Warlord cuts him off. Lifts him up again...aaaaaaaaahhh, drops him throat-first right on the ropes!" he grimaced, "Paul Ellering complaining to the ref about the Powers of Pain's tactics, but I guess they're going to stand for now."

"Hey, Ellering's got nothing to complain about, Monsoon; we all know he has the Legion of Doom doing the exact same thing to poor, defenseless wrestlers every time they step into the ring."

"He most certainly does not. Barbarian tagged in, flings Hawk into the corner hard, rushes him...and misses himself," Monsoon exclaimed, "Hawk stumbling along the ropes, Animal's got his arm outstretched, he's almost there...whoa, out of nowhere, Warlord runs up and decks him before the tag could be made. Repeated interference by the illegal man by the Powers of Pain all through this match so far."

"Again, Gorilla, nothing Hawk and Animal don't do themselves."

"Fuji barking out instructions to the Barbarian, who gives him an Irish whip into the ropes-whoa, hard elbow to the face and a beauty. He goes for another cover...and he only gets one. Barbarian now stomping on Hawk's chest; Hawk's been in there a long time now."

"I know; he really needs to make the tag quick, or he'll be toast in no time flat."

"Flying clothesline off the ropes by the Barbarian sends Hawk rolling towards the ropes...oh look at this: Fuji with the cane around Hawk's neck!" Monsoon complained at the action, "Barbarian stomping harder on his chest too while the Warlord distracts the referee on the other side of the ring; come on, ref, turn around!"

"Hey give him a break, Gorilla; he ain't perfect. And besides, with a chance to face the world tag team champs at stake here, I'd say anything SHOULD go."

"So you think this is fair, Jesse, for Hawk to be double-teamed like this to...here comes Paul Ellering from behind, shoves Fuji to the ground; now THAT'S good managing if you ask me."

"Well none of us were asking you, Monsoon, and as far as I'm concerned, Ellering just pulled a cheap shot."

"Unfortunately, it didn't do too much for Hawk either; Barbarian dragging him back into the middle of the ring, a stomp to the groin. Now a backbreaker and a cover: one, two...no."

"Hawk hasn't got much left in him; I think we're going to see a pinfall very soon."

"But wait, Hawk with an elbow to the chest, and another, and now he picks the Barbarian up and drops him down hard!" Monsoon exclaimed, "Both men down on the floor, crawling towards their corners, let's see who gets there first. Animal reaching out as far as he can, Hawk trying to do the same..."

"No dice, Gorilla; Barbarian makes the tag on his end, and here comes the Warlord real fast," Ventura countered, and indeed the Warlord jumped down hard on Hawk's back just as his hand was about to slap Animal's, ruining the tag. Nodding at Fuji's latest instructions, the Warlord lifted Hawk up over his head and gave him a hard powerslam, then went for another cover. When Hawk kicked out at two again, he hauled him upright and flung him clean out of the ring. "Barbarian now off the apron, jumping down on top of Hawk; he's not the legal man, he has no business doing that!" Monsoon complained again, "Now slamming him hard into the ringpost and rolling him back in. Warlord looking very confident now, hefting Hawk back up, flinging him into the ropes...wait a minute, Hawk ducks under it...and hits him with a flying clothesline on the return!" he exclaimed, "Hawk crawling towards his corner again, Paul Ellering encouraging him on; Warlord going for his corner too; will Legion of Doom be luckier this time?"

"There's the tag to the Barbarian on the other side, and here he comes full steam, Gorilla..."

"Hawk with a few seconds left, one last lunge...and he makes the tag before he could be flattened, and here comes a fresh Animal! Elbow to the Barbarian's face, blocks one in turn, another elbow, another block, another elbow, and now belts him down hard!"

"I think he used a closed fist there, Gorilla; the referee should ring the bell right now and give the Powers of Pain the match."

"I didn't see that at all, Jesse. Animal whips the Barbarian into the corner; big splash on him! Flips him to the other corner, and another splash, and down goes the Barbarian. Cover: one, two...look at that, flying save by the Warlord! Whoa, Animal bashes both their heads together; this crowd is going wild! Goes to...elbow in the chest by the Warlord, flips him into the ropes and...wait, what am I saying, he's not the legal man right now; I never saw a tag! He shouldn't be in there; where'd the Barbarian go!?"

"Barbarian rolled outside the ring to catch his breath. You know, I'd call the Warlord a great partner for wanting to fill in for the Barbarian till he's back to full strength."

"He can't leave unless he tags out, Jesse; you know the rules, you've done tag matches...aaaahhh, Warlord drops Animal throat-first on the ropes like he did to Hawk earlier; Paul Ellering yelling at the ref that there wasn't a tag earlier; Warlord should not be in there, period."

"Well the ref can't overturn what he didn't see not happening, am I right? And besides, who can tell the Warlord and Barbarian apart half the time anyway; sue him if he can't."

"Warlord hooking Animal into a full Nelson, holding him still...hang on, Fuji climbing up on the apron, going into his pocket..."

"Ah, he's got that old familiar bag of salt," Ventura recognized it, "Let's see Animal get out of this one."

"Fuji now with a fistful of salt, here he goes...and he misses!" Monsoon proclaimed, for Animal had ducked at the last minute, and the Warlord got the full blast of the salt square in the face instead. Howling, the Warlord stumbled blindly around the ring. "NOW Fuji has a problem," Ventura grumbled, disappointed, "And look at this: Animal manhandling Fuji (he had grabbed Fuji by the collar and lifted him over his head); WHY is the referee not disqualifying the Legion of Doom right now?"

"Maybe, Jesse, because Chioda saw what Fuji was planning, and...hang on, here comes the Barbarian back up on the apron, getting into the ring and charging him from behind, Animal better watch his back...and he sees the Barbarian and hurls Fuji at him; both men go toppling clear out of the ring!"

Both men in fact landed right next to Ellering, who casually planted his feet on their chests to hold them down and gave Animal a thumbs-up. Nodding, Animal tagged Hawk, bear-hugged the Warlord, and hoisted him up in the air. "Hawk going up to the top rope; here comes the dreaded Doomsday Device!" Monsoon roared in approval, "Hawk off the top rope, flattering the Warlord to the mat! The cover, and forget about it!"

A quick three count triggered the bell. "A strong victory for Legion of Doom, who have just earned themselves a title shot with Demolition on prime time TV in a few weeks," Monsoon commended the winners.

"Well they should count themselves quite lucky that Animal could get out of the way of the salt in time," Ventura groused.

"But a victory nonetheless as we go back to the replay: indeed, good reflexes by Animal to avoid the salt here as Fuji tried to put the match away this way. Instead it backfired, and it was the Warlord taking both the salt, and then the blow from Hawk off Animal's shoulders to finish it, setting up what looks to be an epic tag team showdown between Legion of Doom and Demolition in the near future. Coming up next, another epic battle, this one for the Intercontinental title..."

* * *

><p>"Very good, very good," Bret nodded, watching the action unfold on the monitor in the hallway. He stepped to the side as the sound of the Legion of Doom's motorcycles coming backstage got louder. "Nice work tonight, Hawk, Animal," he commended them once they came through the curtain.<p>

"Belts are ours, Hitman, we just know it," Animal declared confidently.

"Demolition may talk the talk, but after the next Saturday Night's Main Event, all they'll be able to say is, 'OOOOOOOOOOOOHH, WHAT A RUSH!" Hawk bellowed.

"Just a shame your brother-in-law's on sabbatical right now; I'm sure a match between the former Hart Foundation and we ourselves would be a classic-if you had the titles for us to take, of course," Ellering told the Hitman.

"Yeah, probably; just bad timing," Bret shrugged, "It's something the fans would have..."

"Move it, you biker humanoids; next Intercontinental champion coming through," came Heenan's unwelcome voice. The Brain squeezed past the motorcycles, Perfect and Sherri in tow. "Well, Hitman, enjoy your last few minutes with the gold," he told the reigning champion snidely, "Because the REAL Intercontinental champion here will soon 'perfectly' excellently execute you. In fact, I...hey, I'm trying to intimidate the man here!" he shouted at Ellering and the Legion of Doom, who'd abruptly gunned their bikes' engines, presumably to drown Heenan out, and peeled off into the bowls of the Garden. "Inconsiderate humanoids," the Brain grumbled under his breath. "As I was saying," he turned back to Bret, "By the end of..."

"Bobby Heenan," it was Okerlund running up, mercifully cutting him off again. "Ah, both contenders together, this'll make a nice change of pace, if that's OK," he asked both the champion and challenger.

"No problem, but since I'm the better wrestler, I get to stand in the center of the shot," Perfect dictated his terms.

"No way; champion's honor," Bret shot back.

"Gentlemen, I...we're on?" Okerlund got the instructions through his earpiece. "We're here backstage with both men who will be going at it in a few moments for the Intercontinental belt; Mr. Perfect, I see you're going to have extra help in your corner in the former of Sensational Sherri..."

"And it's all perfectly legal, Okerlund; I have dispensation from Tunney office to help the 'perfect' Intercontinental champion get back the belt that's rightly his," Sherri shot at the interviewer, "I appreciate a perfect man, you know, and Mr. Perfect more than fills that position for me."

"Sure, him and how many hundred others?" Bret cracked under his breath.

"I heard that," Perfect pointed a finger in his face, "Let me tell you something, Hitman, and to all the people watching at home," he glared into the camera, "Last time was a total fluke; you got lucky, that was all. Well, Bobby and I worked out a solid game plan, filled in all our weaknesses, and by the end of this match MY Intercontinental belt will be right back around this waist..." he mimed putting the belt on, "...where it perfectly well belongs."

"Couldn't have said it any better myself, Perfect. Let's go; they're playing our song," Heenan cackled, leading his man through the curtain as Perfect's theme indeed kicked in over the loudspeakers. "The following contest is for the World Wrestling Federation Intercontinental Heavyweight Championship, scheduled for one fall," Finkel announced to the crowd, "First, the challenger: accompanied to the ring by his 'perfect' manager, Bobby 'the Brain' Heenan, and by special invitation tonight by Sensational Sherri, from Robbinsdale, Minnesota, weighing 257 pounds, here is Mr. Perfect!"

Perfect smugly waved to the crowd with his lucky "perfect" towel that he always seemed to carry to the ring for whatever reason. "Quite confident, isn't he, Bret?" Okerlund glanced through the curtain at the procession.

"Perfect's always overconfident, Gene, you know that as much as I do," Bret remarked, "I hope that means I can catch him off guard. Still," he frowned, "I can't help wondering, if it wasn't for the fact he's an arrogant you-know-what who sold out to Heenan for glory, the two of us might actually have made good friends."

"Hmm," Okerlund mused softly in answer. "Well, here we go," he waved Bret back into the interview position. "All right, Bret Hart, we saw you witness Mr. Perfect's and Sensational Sherri's defiant words to you," he began the second interview, "Do you feel any trepidation to once again be stepping into the ring with arguably the most worthy competitor for the Intercontinental title you've ever faced?"

"Well Gene, words mean nothing; what you do in the ring is all that counts," the Hitman said calmly, "Mr. Perfect can talk the talk, but last time he certainly didn't walk the walk. He's not perfect; I'm not perfect; no one's perfect, and tonight he's going to find out why I'm the best there is, the best there was, and the best there'll ever be. If he wants 'his' title back, he'll have to earn it fair and square, and I think in the end, after put up or shut up time is over, he'll find out that I'm the 'perfect' man to excellently execute him."

He lowered his shades back into place and started towards the curtain. "All right, Gorilla, the champ confident that he can hold onto his title; this ought to be a good one," Okerlund said to Monsoon over the air behind him, "Back to you for the call."

Bret took his place at the curtain and waited for the Hart Beat tune to start rocking, precipitating a large cheer from the crowd, before stepping through the curtains to Finkel's announcement: "His opponent, from Calgary, Alberta, Canada, weighing 234 pounds, here is the World Wrestling Federation Intercontinental Heavyweight Champion, Bret 'Hitman' Hart!"

"Hitman looking at the top of his game as he heads on down to the ring," Monsoon stated from the broadcast position, "The last fight between these two was a classic, Jesse, and I suspect strongly the rematch will be more of the same."

"Very much so, Gorilla, and Mr. Perfect's been working so hard to get ready for a chance to get the belt back, that he's not going to stop until he gets it one way or the other, I say," Ventura predicted.

"Well you know how it works, Jesse; he's going to have to either pin the Hitman, or make him submit, and as we've seen, neither is an easy task. Perfect staring longingly at the belt as Bret Hart hands it to the referee, and now the question is, who's going to be the lucky recipient of those Hitman shades tonight..."

Bret, after scanning the crowd, located the perfect choice: a young boy of about two or three in his father's arms on the far side. Slipping off the shades, he climbed out of the ring and walked over. "Here you go, my little man," he said with a smile, slipping the shades over the boy's head, then rubbing his hair, "Wish me luck."

"Hey, you want to hurry it up, Hart; we don't have all night," Heenan shouted impatiently from the apron.

"OK, Bobby, but let me help you down out of the ring," Bret abruptly swiped Heenan's legs out from under him, causing the Brain to topple rear end first off the apron to loud laughs from the crowd. "Now that was totally uncalled for!" Ventura roared from the broadcast position.

"Well Jesse, you always say turnabout is fair play; how about how Heenan choked him out with the TV cable the last time he faced Perfect?" Monsoon pointed out, "I'd say that's a fair way of letting Heenan know he didn't forget that cowardly act. Bret Hart now climbing into the ring-and Perfect rams him head-first in the chest; he almost falls down next to Heenan! Perfect grabs him around the waist, suplexes him back over the ropes into the ring! A cover: one, t-no, you're not going to stop the Hitman that quickly. Perfect hurls him hard into the corner, Sensational Sherri cheering him on; I still say she has no business being down here at ringside when she's not Perfect's regular manager."

"Well I say she's an inspiration to Mr. Perfect, and you can't make me think differently, Gorilla."

"I don't think I'd want to, Jesse. Perfect on top of Bret, punching away-but Bret punches back! Picks Perfect up and stomps him down hard, and now Perfect's doing a whole new dance all over the ring! Hitman off the ropes, kicks him clean out of the ring!"

"Now if I were Perfect, Monsoon, I'd work with the count and take my time getting back in; if he gets desperate too soon, Bret Hart'll get a clear advantage in this match."

"Perfect indeed taking his time out there, taking some advice from Bobby Heenan and Sherri; he's cutting it kind of close now, doesn't want to risk a countout. Now he's climbing in, but Bret's right there. Hitman with a Bulldog, takes Perfect down. Another arm drag, and he's down again. Now a cover, one, two...and Perfect kicks out."

"Yeah, he's not going down that easily; Mr. Perfect didn't get to be Intercontinental champion in the first place by giving up on the first pin."

"Irish whip into the corner, big boot to Perfect's face. Now a suplex, and down goes Perfect-wait, Perfect trying a sunset flip, Hart reeling...no, stops it with a punch to the face. Another whip, elbow puts Perfect down again. Hitman grabs the legs; a few more stomps; could he be going for the Sharpshooter already, I wonder? Starts to twist the legs...but a kickout by Perfect-and what a kickout; Hitman goes flying out of the ring! Here comes Sherri...and now she's choking him out with the TV cable!"

"I love it," Ventura was all but laughing, "People like you always put Sherri down, but here she is, making a vital contribution to Perfect's efforts to get the title back."

"I call it brutality, Jesse. Sherri rolling the champ back into the ring; Perfect pounding on his back-now stomping on the back; he's risking a disqualification if he keeps it up like this."

"And that would be a shame, if he's as close to getting the title back as he looks."

"Bodyslam by Perfect, here's the cover, one, two...Hart gets the shoulder up. Perfect whips him to the ropes...Hitman ducks under the clothesline, ducks another...whoa, both men take elbows to the face, and they both go down!" Monsoon exclaimed, "Both men lying flat in the ring; Heenan screaming at Perfect to go for the cover. Perfect crawling over; he's got Bret covered. One, two...shoulder goes up at the last possible minute; that hand was about to hit the mat the third time. Perfect now complaining to referee Joey Marella about the count..."

"And I say he's justified, Gorilla, especially given how terrible Marella's record in the ring is, but he'd better not take his eyes off Bret Hart; that's a cardinal mistake too many guys make."

"I'll ask you not to question Joey Marella's officiating skills, Jesse, when he is consistently rated among the very best referees here in the World Wrestling Federation year in and year out. Bret Hart now in fact getting up, Perfect still yelling at Marella and doesn't see him-Hitman grabs the legs and sweeps him into a small package! Here we go, one, two...no, scissor kick to the face breaks the hold. Slingshot, whoooooa, Perfect smashes hard into the turnbuckle; he's reeling now!"

"Like I said, he shouldn't have taken his eyes off the champion, and now he's paying; hopefully he can shake this off and make a comeback."

"Hitman climbing up to the top rope; what's he going to do now? Off the top rope, and a drop kick to Perfect's chest sends him down again! Another cover, one, two...look at this, Sherri grabbing the legs and pulling the Hitman off; gimme a break!"

"Good alertness there on Sherri's part; I think Perfect would have been pinned there if she hadn't jumped in."

"Now she delivers a slap to Bret's face; somebody get her back to the locker room! Hart yelling something at her, he's ticked that she's interfering as well."

"He'd better watch it; if he hits her, he's history."

"He wouldn't do that; Bret Hart is a gentlemen, at least since he got away from Jimmy Hart's influence. Hold on, Perfect on the apron, jumps down and wallops the Hitman in the back! Heenan yelling at him to get him to get the champ back into the ring A.S.A.P."

"Good strategy there by the Brain; Perfect can't win the title on a countout."

"Perfect flips Bret Hart to the mat; hard jump on the chest. Perfect looking confident now as he whips the champ into the ropes, big boot to the face sends him sprawling. Picks him up, charging for the corner, rams his back hard into it. Pain visible on the Hitman's face as he's whipped into the ropes; another elbow sends him down again. Perfect rolls him over, jumping on the back repeatedly; he's risking disqualification again."

"No, this is all part of the plan, Gorilla; he's just softening Hart up for the PerfectPlex."

"Mr. Perfect looking quite confident...and now he's in fact giving the signal for the PerfectPlex. Grabs Bret into position, here it comes...no, Hitman fighting the PerfectPlex for all its worth. Perfect straining to lift him up, Hitman fighting to...WHOOOOAAA, out of nowhere, Bret Hart reverses it and hurls Mr. Perfect into the ringpost!" he roared, rising to his feet along with half the crowd.

"I think he hit the post head-first; I think Perfect is out cold," Ventura stared at Perfect laying flat on the mat, "I'll come out and say it; what a disgusting, cold-hearted move by Bret Hart; is this what a champion is supposed to represent...!?"

"It was all in self-defense, Jesse, and if Perfect is out cold, I doubt he meant to do it. Hitman rolling Perfect into the center of the ring, out of Sherri's grasp, and covers: one, two, three, that's it!"

The Garden erupted in cheers. "The winner of this bout, and STILLLL World Wrestling Federation Intercontinental Champion, Bret 'Hitman' Hart!" Finkel grandly declared. Bret breathed a sigh of relief as he took the Intercontinental belt from the timekeeper and hefted it high to more cheers. He bustled over to where Perfect still lay flat, although visibly breathing, Heenan and Sherri hovering over him. "Is he OK?" he asked with genuine concern, "I can get him to..."

"Get out of here!" a furious Heenan waved him off, "I'll make sure Tunney fines you good for this, Hart!"

"It was an accident if he's hurt; let me help if..."

Sherri abruptly shoved him down to the mat and started stomping on his chest. Heenan quickly joined in as well, until WWF officials burst into the ring and pulled the two of them away. "Finally the two of them out of there; you want to talk about disgusting moves, Jesse, just check out those sore losers," Monsoon pointed with contempt at the two managers as they and Perfect were dragged away from the ring, "Hart was only trying to help Mr. Perfect there..."

"Yeah sure, he wanted to get in a few more cheap shots," Ventura growled, "I hope he is fined heavily for this."

"I don't think there should be any fine; you saw Perfect using questionable moves all through the match. Look again on replay; he's stomping on the Hitman's back way too hard here."

"OK, I'll grant he got a little caught up in the moment there, Monsoon, but the man worked hard to get this chance at the Intercontinental title; lots of people get carried away in the clutch. Now THIS I have a problem with..."

"Here we see again Perfect going for the PerfectPlex, but Hart turns it around and gives him a taste of his own medicine, and see for yourself, Jesse; Bret had no way of knowing Perfect would hit the ringpost headfirst."

"That's what YOU say..."

"All right, we'll have a report on Mr. Perfect's condition as the doctors release it, and stay tuned, because more Summer Slam action is coming your way in a few moments..."


	9. Chapter 9

"I hate Hart, I hate Hart, I hate Hart!" Perfect groaned back in the locker room, holding an icepack to his head.

"How do you think we feel too, Perfect!?" a frustrated Sherri snapped at him, "Suppose Vincenelli takes this out on us all because you couldn't finish the blasted PerfectPlex on him...!?"

"I gave it all I got!" Perfect snapped back, "He must have been grabbing the ropes or something...no?" he frowned when she shook her head.

"OK, it doesn't matter, because we're still going to get the sympathy of the fans by milking this injury angle for all it's worth, Curt," Heenan told him firmly, "I want you to act like he caused more damage with the throw-out than just that bump on your head; I can get a neck brace somewhere, plus crutches, and for the next three months, you can walk around like you're a cripple. I'll try and get all your matches between then cancelled too to sell it more. Everyone'll see Hart as a cold-hearted brute, and once we've run it far enough, everyone'll be demanding you take the title from him to teach him a lesson about bullying; guaranteed rubber match by the end of the year, in which you'll finally take..."

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Mr. Heenan, Mr. Hart's here to see Mr. Perfect," a an usher called to them.

"Tell him to get...!" Sherri started to bellow, but Heenan held up a hand to silence her. "Uh, sure, send him in," he called, then whispered at Perfect, "Go for it." Perfect obligingly fell back on his back on the bench and started moaning in fake agony like there were no tomorrow as Bret entered the room, a genuinely worried expression on his face. "Hey, Perfect, I just want to say sorry it had to end that way," he apologized to his opponent, "I didn't mean to..."

"It's a bit late for that, Hart!" Heenan bellowed at him, "This man has a fractured skull, a concussion, he's going to need spinal surgery...I can't begin to list the medical problems he's going to have because of you, so I hope you're good and proud of yourself, 'champ!'"

"All I can say is I hope he recovers quickly," Bret stressed, "Things happen, though, in the heat of a match, and..."

"And you know what else is going to happen, Hart!? You're going to foot the medical bill in full when we get it! Till then, get lost! Sherri, get rid of him," Heenan instructed her.

"With pleasure," Sherri shoved the Hitman out the door, sending him flat on his back, then slammed it in his face. Shaking his head, Bret picked himself up and walked up the hall, where Davey was seated in a chair, now decked out in his Union Jack ring cape, Mathilda half-asleep at his feet. "Well?" the British Bulldog asked him.

"He's faking a worse injury to make it look worse than it is," Bret shook his head, "Heenan might think simply listing traumatic injuries will make them so, but after all these years in the ring, I can spot the severity of an injury when I see it."

He sighed and leaned against the wall. "Still, I hate to feel bad causing anyone even minor injury, even knowing accidents will happen," he confessed, "It's amazing to think how much I forgot that when I was under Jimmy's tutelage, trying to impress him; maybe things are now in overcompensation mode or something. And even though Perfect's only got a big bump on his head, it did look worse at first, and if I really had hurt him back...what would my kids say if...?"

"They'd understand, old chap," his brother-in-law assured him, "They know you'd never deliberate try and hurt your opponents, just as I wouldn't mine. And you've seen Perfect try and cause deliberate harm at times before; you know that makes you better than him and then some. If..."

"Curtain time, Mr. Smith," a page stuck his head around the corner, "Mr. DiBiase's just about done with his pre-match interview."

"Gotcha; let's go, Mathilda old girl," Davey coaxed his pet up. "Don't worry about it, and just enjoy what I'm going to do to that rich buffoon," he told Bret in parting. He and Mathilda hustled up the hall, reaching the cusp of the interview area just as DiBiase finished his interview with Okerlund, let out a loud diabolical laugh, and followed his entourage through the curtains just as the bell rang. "The following contest is scheduled for one fall," came Finkel's latest announcement, almost drowned out by DiBiase's theme song, "Coming down the aisle, accompanied by his manager, the Mouth of the South Jimmy Hart, and his personal bodyguard, Virgil, making his summer residence in Hyannisport, Massachusetts, here is the self-proclaimed Million Dollar Champion, the Million Dollar Man, Ted DiBiase!"

"Nice dog," Okerlund bent down to pet Mathilda...who promptly slobbered on his hand. "Icccckk," he grimaced, gesturing for another page nearby to get him a towel. "You might want to train her to refrain from that from here on," he advised Davey.

"I'll do my best, Gene," Davey told him, "In fact, I think I'm going to get Mathilda a mate with my Summer Slam paycheck; I get the feeling looking at her sometimes she'd be happy with a husband."

"Nice, nice," Okerlund appeared to like the idea, "You have any names yet?"

"Well, I always did like Winston; it seemed regal enough to..."

"Whoop, we're on again," Okerlund hefted the microphone. "All right, Davey Boy Smith, Ted DiBiase has just claimed that you and Mathilda are, by simple definition, culturally inferior to him, and thus he aims to put you in place in tonight's match; do you take specific offense to those comments?"

"Well who wouldn't, Gene?" Davey said firmly, a scowl twisting on his face, "Over in England growing up, I saw the lords and the wealthy act like they own the entire planet; they think their titles and their bank accounts give them free reign to do anything. It's clear Ted DiBiase thinks the same way. But the measure of a man comes from his heart, not his bank account, and tonight, I aim to prove that when it comes to ring skills, DiBiase is definitively inferior to me, and there's nothing his money can do to change that. Come on girl, let's go teach him a thing or two."

He clucked at Mathilda and walked her through the curtain just as the familiar strains of "Rule, Britannia" rose up over the speakers. "His opponent," Finkel continued over the applause, "coming down the aisle, accompanied by his mascot, Mathilda, from Leeds, England, weighing 270 pounds, the British Bulldog!"

"It's deafening in here for Davey Boy as he and Mathila make their way to the ring," Monsoon declared from the broadcast position, "And I don't think I've ever seen him in better shape before."

"Maybe, but he's never faced someone as well-trained as Ted DiBiase yet," Ventura countered, "After all, DiBiase has access to the most expensive training equipment, personal trainers, the best facilities, everything that everybody else in the WWF can only dream of having."

"But like the British Bulldog said in his pre-match statements a moment ago, money can't buy you victory, and DiBiase's going to have to pin him for the win," Monsoon counter-countered.

"Unless Davey Boy decides to play dirty and cheat his way to a win, which we both know he's not above doing, and DiBiase gets it on the DQ..."

"Will you get serious!? Davey Boy Smith handing Mathilda off to the ring crew; they're going to take her out to her little perch there at ringside, and hopefully she's going to witness one heck of a match."

"You know, you and McMahon always whine that Virgil has no business at ringside; I say that mutt has no business out there either. She's a terrible distraction to DiBiase, who's probably worried he's going to get bitten if he gets too close to her, and who knows if she's got her rabies shots at all? And that's not counting whether she has fleas or..."

"There's the bell, and here we go," Monsoon ignored him, "The two of them locking up; British Bulldog with the arm drag, takes the Million Dollar Man down. Another arm drag does the same again. Now a suplex, and a beauty. Bulldog into the ropes, leaps up and comes down hard on him. Into the other ropes-but look at this, Jimmy Hart tripping him-and holding him down by the leg, and here comes DiBiase. Million Dollar Man kicking the Bulldog in the chest, now a slap to the face, and he flips him over the shoulder. DiBiase drives the knees down hard into Davey Boy's chest. A cover: one, two...no. Pretty nonchalant cover there by the Million Dollar Man; you're not going to get the British Bulldog that way."

"Yeah, DiBiase better not get overconfident here; if he underestimates the Bulldog, he could go down in a major upset."

"DiBiase whips Davey Boy into the ropes, hard elbow to the face. Grabs him by the legs, now stomping in the groin area. Starting to twist the legs...but look at this, Davey Boy pulls him into a small package! One, two...no, DiBiase kicks out at the last possible second. British Bulldog now with DiBiase in a headlock, delivering blows to the head. And now...whoa, what a suplex! One, two...and DiBiase survives again. Davey Boy lifts him up again, and a hard slam to the canvas. Into the ropes again...and down as Jimmy Hart smashes him in the back with the megaphone; come on ref, watch that little runt!"

"I like it, Monsoon; this is what teamwork is about, with Jimmy Hart helping the Million Dollar Man when he needs it."

"I hardly call a cheap shot like that teamwork, Jesse. Look at the Mouth of the South now, standing inches in front of Mathilda and shouting insulting phrases at her through the megaphone..."

"How do we know they're insulting? And if they're accurate about that mutt, it wouldn't be right to call it insulting..."

"Back in the ring, DiBiase now with the advantage again, flips the British Bulldog over his shoulder, stomps on him again. Now whips him into the ropes; hard kick to the chest. Another kick to the chest, and Davey Boy's flying right out of the ring. And here comes Virgil-smashes his face into the mat. Now he's picking him up over his head-oh no, dropped his throat right on top of the ring barricades; come on ref, turn around and see what they're doing to him!"

"Well if the Bulldog had managed to stay in the ring in the first place, he wouldn't have to be facing Virgil right now."

"He shouldn't have to be facing anyone but DiBiase; instead, he's getting triple-teamed here! Virgil smashes his head into the ringpost while his boss distracts the ref; now he's rolling him back into the ring. DiBiase oozing confidence now, flinging him into the corner, charging at him...and missing! Davey Boy with new life, and a running clothesline flattens the Million Dollar Man! Lifts him up for a...no, DiBiase reverses it, and now he's got the Million Dollar Dream locked on!"

"We're going to get a submission now; nobody breaks the Million Dollar Dream. Looks like the Bulldog's gasping for air."

"But he's very close to the ropes-and he's got the leg under the ropes; DiBiase's going to have to break the hold...but DiBiase not breaking it even though referee Dick Woehrle's ordering him to...!"

"He's breaking it all right, Gorilla; he's bent on breaking the Bulldog's neck..."

"Virgil shoves Davey Boy's leg back into the ring, and DiBiase pouring on the Million Dollar Dream again-a hard elbow to the chest by the British Bulldog, and an another, now a kick there, and he's broken the hold! Kicks the Million Dollar Man into the ropes, hoists him up on the rebound, and here it comes, that patented running powerslam the Bulldog does so well-bang, down he goes! The cover, one, two...NO, DiBiase survives that! How did he survive that!?"

"Because DiBiase's a true competitor, and you've never appreciated him, Gorilla."

"Unfazed, Bulldog flings the Million Dollar Man into the corner, crashes into him, now up on the shoulder and down comes the blows: two, three, four, five...and there's the Mouth again, yanking Davey Boy off his man; come on! Virgil now grabbing the Bulldog, holding him motionless; get those two off the apron! DiBiase sizing his opponent up, here he comes with a running dropkick...and nails Virgil!" he roared, for Davey ducked at the last minute, and the bodyguard was sent sprawling the mats. "Davey Boy heading towards DiBiase-but Jimmy Hart restraining him, give me a...Davey Boy spins around and lifts Jimmy Hart up in the air...!"

"Looks like he's going to powerslam him; if he does, the ref better ring the bell and disqualify him..."

"Wait a minute, hold on, DiBiase's got the Mouth's megaphone, he's creeping up behind the Bulldog-and nails him in the back of the head with it...but the referee saw him do it!" Monsoon proclaimed just as the bell rang. "Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this bout, as the result of a disqualification, the British Bulldog!" Finkel announced the official decision.

"WHAT!?" a livid DiBiase bellowed loud enough for the entire arena to hear. He stormed over to the referee and began shouting at the top of his lungs in protest in Woehrle's face. "You know, I don't agree with this decision at all," Ventura grumbled, "Not when Davey Boy was manhandling Jimmy Hart; DiBiase was just defending his manager, much like how Macho does the same for Elizabeth, and you and McMahon let that slide."

"Except, Jesse, Elizabeth has never once tried to interfere in a match, as Jimmy Hart did all through this match...and look at this, Davey Boy now sicking Mathilda on the Mouth!" he roared, for Davey had unleashed his pet, who chased a panicked Jimmy down and bit into his rear end. Hart's shriek echoed loudly through the arena, although drowned out by the laughter and roars of approval from the crowd. "This is a disgrace of epic proportions!" Ventura roared, "That mutt should be seized and put down for this! If I were DiBiase, I'd hire the best lawyers I could and take both Davey Boy and Mathilda to court for this and make sure this animal is...!"

"OOOOOOOHH YEAH!" Monsoon roared in delight as Jimmy, now with a very large hole ripped in the seat of his pants (revealing to all the world that he was wearing pink polka-dotted underwear), dove frantically through the ropes and dashed back to the locker room, his hands over his rear end. DiBiase and Virgil ran after him, the former shouting harsh words back at the Bulldog, who ignored him and bent down to rub his pet affectionately as "Rule, Britannia" came back on over the loudspeakers. "What a match this was, and we're not done yet," Monsoon proclaimed, "We'll now take you back to Gene Okerlund, who is with the Undertaker and Paul Bearer..."

* * *

><p>"All right, thank you, Gorilla; I am in fact here with the man from Death Valley and his manager," Okerlund looked visibly worried standing between the Deadman and the mortician backstage, "Paul Bearer, your man the Undertaker has racked up quite an undefeated streak since arriving here in the World Wrestling Federation, but tonight he faces his, shall we say, gravest challenge yet in the form of the Eighth Wonder of the World, Andre the Giant. Do you or the Undertaker feel any trepidation to be facing such an all-time legend who was once as unstoppable as your man?"<p>

"Andre the Giant, they say time is unstoppable, merciless, forever rolling forward," Bearer ominously hissed into the camera, "So, in fact, is my Undertaker. And tonight at Summer Slam, he will roll forward over you, and confine your career to the graveyard of the immortals. You were good in your time, but your time is up, and you must fear the coming of the twilight!"

He laughed darkly and turned towards the Undertaker, who raised his head ever so slowly so he was looking right into the camera. "_Andre the Giant_," he mumbled softly but darkly, "_They say legends never die, but I know full well all will die in time. In my hands lies your legacy. And tonight, that legacy will follow the same pattern as all: ashes to ashes,"_ he mimed crumpling up and sprinkling ashes, "_and dust to dust." _

"All right Gorilla, the Undertaker is more than ready for his match with Andre, which will be coming your way next," Okerlund visibly shivered even after the Undertaker and Bearer had walked away to make their entrance into the arena, "Back to you."

Back inside the arena, Monsoon also shivered as well. "Those two causing a lot of sleepless nights for so many people here in the World Wrestling Federation; I'll readily admit, Jesse, I'm one of them," he confessed.

"Well I say you're yellow, Gorilla; the Undertaker doesn't scare me at all; in fact, I like the guy. He's got more talent in just his little finger than Hogan could ever dream of."

"Speaking of which, we'd like to remind all you out there that...whoa, what is this!" Monsoon looked worriedly around as the lights abruptly went out in the Garden. Familiar, ominous gongs rang out. "The following contest is scheduled for one fall," Finkel began again. Before he could go any further...

"WHOOOOAA!" Monsoon let out an even louder gasp and jumped visibly in his seat as flames shot up in the air from pods alongside of the tunnel entrance. Between these fiery columns strode Bearer, an almost serene expression on his face and his urn extended far outward from his body. Behind him, marching almost in step with the funereal organ music now echoing through the arena, came the Undertaker himself, staring straight at the ground so that his eyes weren't visible to the crowds or the cameras-perhaps quite fortunately for all the visibly terrified youngsters along the aisle. "Coming down the aisle," Finkel himself needed a few seconds to regain his composure for the sudden theatrics, "led by Paul Bearer, from Death Valley, weighing 328 pounds, the Undertaker!"

"What an entrance here by the Undertaker and Paul Bearer, although I'm not sure if those are going to be allowed after this, since our cameras show quite a few unnerved people out there," Monsoon recovered his composure as well.

"Come on, Monsoon, this is a great intro for the Undertaker," Ventura argued, "It fits with his whole mantra of scaring the living hell out of everyone who steps into his path."

"Now Jesse, you know to watch your language on the on the air, or Jack Tunney might just fine you," his broadcast partner reprimanded him, "After what happened between our colleague Gene Okerlund and Rick Rude last year, you know full well that the kids aren't supposed to be exposed to anything bad from us."

"Hey don't compare me to Okerlund; it's not my fault he couldn't take that sign malfunction properly. If I had been there, it would have..."

"Undertaker climbing into the ring, so far undefeated here in the World Wrestling Federation," Monsoon got back to the topic at hand, "This, though, will be his biggest test to date, matching up with the Eighth Wonder of the World, Andre the Giant, and that streak just might come to an end here."

"MIGHT, but I wouldn't bet on it," Ventura predicted confidently, "Andre's best days are way behind him; the Undertaker's are still way ahead of him. Do the math, Gorilla. And besides, you've watched the Undertaker in action; no one can hurt this guy, and despite what McMahon and all the other patently biased commentators out there say, I don't think even Andre can hurt the Phenom."

"Well we shall see in a minute," Monsoon audibly breathed in relief as the lights came back on, "The big guy should be coming along any minute now..."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth, in fact, than an oversized hand pushed the curtains aside. The crowd went wild at the sight of Andre lumbering down the aisle. "His opponent," Finkel continued, "from Grenoble in the French Alps, weight 476 pounds, Andre the Giant!"

"Andre looks ready to go, more than I usually see him as," Monsoon remarked, "And needless to say, Jesse, I think there's very little chance of a Tombstone by the Undertaker on this guy."

"Yeah, well Andre sure has limited options on the Undertaker too," Ventura shot back, "My only concern is whether the Undertaker's going to make the mistake of looking ahead to the world title match he has signed with Hogan on the next Saturday Night's Main Event; if he looks past the Giant, he can kiss his undefeated streak goodbye."

"Andre gesturing to the Undertaker to get it on as the bell rings; let's see how this one pans out," Monsoon turned back to the action. Indeed, those in the front few rows could easily make out Andre shouting, "Come on, you wanted this; come get some!" at the Undertaker, who merely stood still and glared coldly at his foe. After about thirty seconds of this, the Giant frustratedly stormed towards the Deadman and tried to pick him up, but the Undertaker sucker-kicked him in the chest, then bounced off the ropes and downed Andre with a drop kick. "Whoa, no one expected this; the Giant down already!" Monsoon looked worried, "Undertaker now going up to the top rope; what's going to happen now? He jumps-and Andre catches him in the chest with the huge knees!"

"But look, the Undertaker's right back up as if nothing happened," Ventura pointed as the Deadman got right to his feet with no visible pain, "As I've said time and again, you simply cannot hurt the Phenom."

"Undertaker goes airborne and this time lands square on Andre's chest-looks like a blatant chokehold there; yes, he's choking the big guy out; come on ref, break this up!"

"Hey, he's got to the count of five, and if you bother to look, you'll see he's smart enough to let go right before five."

"He shouldn't be choking him in the first place. There he goes up again, right down on Andre's chest again. A cover: one, no, Andre kicks out immediately."

"He's got to keep Andre down; if the Giant gets to his feet, he can turn the tide in this one real quick."

"And Andre indeed still down as Paul Bearer comes over and, look at this, now _he's_ choking him out! What is going on here; we've had repeated managerial interference all night so far!"

"Which, I may point out, Gorilla, also includes Paul Ellering unfairly holding down the Barbarian and Mr. Fuji to allow the Legion of Doom to win earlier, one of the more blatant managerial cheats I've seen in a long time."

"Even though Mr. Fuji had been cheating five times as much throughout that match!? Back in this match, Undertaker whipping into the ropes, goes airborne again-and Andre caught him!" he declared as the Giant abruptly reached up and caught the Undertaker in mid-air before he could impact on his chest again, "Andre getting to his feet as the crowd goes bananas, squeezing the Undertaker close...big body slam! The count: one, two...no."

"That referee counted awfully quick there," Ventura complained.

"I thought it was a fair count, Jesse. Referee Tim White is also very highly regarded here in the WWF. Andre whips the Undertaker into the corner; look out, that's a major league splash on the Deadman! Andre turns around; now he's ramming the Undertaker into the post with the rear end: three, four, five; that'll take the starch out of him."

"Feel the power of the urn! Feel the power of the urn!" Bearer cried, raising it high in the air behind his man. This apparently did give the Undertaker some more energy, for he abruptly ducked the massive blow Andre swung at him next and then rammed his head into the Giant's chest, plowing him back into the ropes. He then clamped on another strong chokehold, hissing ominously as he did so. "Oh yes, oh yes!" Bearer all but danced with glee outside the ring. "Rest in peace, Andre the Giant!" he mockingly called to the big man, then let out a high-pitched laugh that made several children in the front row visibly shiver. "Andre gasping for breath; Undertaker refusing to let go of his throat," Monsoon grumbled, "Undertaker now climbing the ropes again-he's walking along the top rope, still choking the Giant..."

"I think I know what's coming next, Gorilla, and I love it..."

"Undertaker dives off the top rope and fells the Giant with a hard right cross! Cover: one, two...just missed the three count. Undertaker undeterred, whips into the ropes, looks like he's going for a flying chokeslam...and Andre catches him again! Andre bear-hugging him, pinning the Undertaker's arms down, squeezing him for all it's worth! Undertaker fighting it, but not many men can survive this!"

"You are getting stronger, stronger! The power of the urn compels you! The power of the urn compels you!" Bearer all but screamed, holding the urn high over his head. This time, however, the attempt appeared fruitless, as the Deadman proved unable to break Andre's grip. "Referee takes hold of the Undertaker's arm; let's see if he can hold out," Monsoon leaned forward in his seat in anticipation, "Drops once...drops twice...but stays up the third time-and the Undertaker rakes Andre's eyes, making him break the hold. Undertaker back into the ropes, goes airborne...and this time the flying chokeslam brings Andre down...no, Andre rolls him over and covers! One, two...no, that was so close..."

"Now THAT was a fast count, Gorilla; I saw it plain as day, he's counting the Undertaker faster than he counts Andre."

"I saw nothing of the sort, Jess. Andre looking furious now; stomps hard on the Undertaker's chest. Whips him into the ropes, fells him with the big boot. Another cover: one, two...his shoulder got up. Andre picks the Undertaker up, holds him high over his head-I don't think we've ever seen the Undertaker handled like this...WHOOOOAA, what a powerslam!"

"Rise, rise, rise!" Bearer ordered his man, holding the urn high again. And indeed, the Undertaker, looking none worse for the wear, slowly rose back up before Andre could cover him this time. Undeterred, Andre picked the Deadman up and gave him another tremendous bodyslam...but even he looked stunned when the Undertaker again rose up immediately, completely unharmed. "This is exactly how good the Phenom is; anyone else would have gone down to what Andre's given him so far," Ventura declared, "Which means Hogan is in major league trouble on the next Saturday Night's Main Event."

"Andre trying to consider his next move here...and the Undertaker with another chokehold on the big guy before he can decide," Monsoon grimaced, "Pushing him back towards the ropes, pushing his head back as he chokes harder...wait, Andre grabs him around the waist, and both of them go over the top rope! Both men rolling around on the floor, whaling away at each other; the referee has started the count. We're at four, five..."

"I don't think they care, Gorilla; they want each other's blood right now-assuming of course the Undertaker has any."

"Both men still pummeling each other out on the floor; the count's still going on. They'd better be careful if they don't want to...eight, nine, and that's it."

The bell rang loudly, but even this didn't stop Andre and the Undertaker from slugging away at each other. Nor did Finkel's announcement of the official decision, "Ladies and gentlemen, both men have been counted out." But then...

"Here comes Paul Bearer from behind-and he smashes Andre over the head with that urn!" Monsoon grimaced, "The match was over; there was no reason for that!"

"He's protecting his man, Gorilla; you can see how completely out of control Andre is there; he's an animal, not like..."

"Uh oh, Bearer just made a mistake; Andre grabs him by the collar and lifts him up in the air; I think we're about to see a mortician fly!" Monsoon declared grandly. Moments later, Andre sent Bearer flying halfway up the aisle with a roar of rage. Bearer quickly collected himself, hoisted the urn (now noticeably dented) and called for the Undertaker to follow. With a low hiss, the Deadman lumbered quickly after him towards the curtain-not as if they had much of a choice, as a still furious Andre charged after them. "Paul Bearer may just have sealed his and the Undertaker's doom with that last move," Monsoon declared.

"But the key point is, the countout doesn't affect the Undertaker's streak; he's still unbeaten."

"For now. We'll see how that looks in a few weeks when he faces the Hulkster. We're going to take a short break, and when we come back, we'll have more Summer Slam excitement just for you..."


	10. Chapter 10

"Nice work there on the Deadman, Andre," Hulk commended the Giant as the latter entered the locker room section where the Mega Powers were getting prepared for the main event.

"Not too bad, Hulkster," Andre, though, looked somewhat disappointed and winded as he sat down on a bench, "But ten years ago, I probably could have finished him easy. Time's catching up to this old body," he stared wistfully at his hands, "One time I held the world in my palms; now it's a fight to draw with people like him. How much longer is left...?"

"Oh Andre, there'll be plenty of time to still make a mark," Elizabeth encouraged him, putting an arm around him, "And you gave him the worst beating he's taken yet; he's probably as frustrated as you are that he couldn't finish you."

"Only that's not good news for me, Elizabeth, since I get him next," Hulk admitted, finishing tying off his American flag-emblazoned headscarf, "If he's still angry over this, I could be in for the battle of my life."

"Well, if I did take enough gas out of him to help you win, glad to help," Andre cracked a small grin, giving the champ a hard pat on the back that almost bowled Hulk over. "Not too much longer till your match," the Giant commented, staring at the clock counting down to the return to wrestling action on the nearest TV mounted overhead, "Hope you're good and ready for the Sheik and Volkoff."

"We were born ready, Andre, ooooooh yeah! Now just tell me if we look ready," Savage spread wide his American flag-style robe and spun grandly in a circle. "I say you look ready to be hung on a building and flown in a stiff breeze, Macho Man," Andre cracked a small chuckle.

"Well the only ones who are going to be hung out are the Mega Mercenaries-hung out to dry, that is," Hulk vowed, "We'll leave them..."

"Shhhh," Savage hissed, his eyes now on the TV, where Fuji and Muraco were making their way to the ring, "I'd like to see if it's humanly possible that Laughing Boy can actually walk the walk as well as he talks the talk..."

* * *

><p>"The Magnificent Don Muraco climbing into the ring behind his manager Mr. Fuji, having long bragged that he's going to give the Ultimate Warrior a beatdown he'll never forget," Monsoon picked up the commentary as the broadcast resumed from break.<p>

"You know, he actually looks stronger than usual, and...whoa," Ventura exclaimed, impressed, when Muraco ripped through his T-shirt, revealing quite massive biceps, "You can tell he's really been working out back home on the beaches in Hawaii; those deltoids look larger than ever."

"Maybe, but the Ultimate Warrior is no slouch in the muscle department either-and here he comes now," Monsoon declared as the Warrior's theme song kicked in over the loudspeakers. Moments later, the Warrior shot up the aisle like a bullet leaving a gun, leaped into the ring, and bounced wildly off the ropes. "He's forgetting the most important thing here; this is a wrestling match, not a pinball game," Ventura rolled his eyes in disgust, "If he thinks he can..."

"Look at this, the Warrior flattens Muraco with a running clothesline the moment the bell rings!" Monsoon proclaimed, "And then another-and a third! Ultimate Warrior has long stated he wants to join the Mega Powers Rock 'n Wrestling Connection; perhaps a strong win here over the Magnificent One will give him the boost he needs."

"Well I for one wouldn't be surprised if he joined Hogan and his hacks; might as well lump all the lunatics in the WWF together. Of course, it wouldn't last long; with Hogan having an ego the size of Alaska, he'd naturally come to see the Warrior as a threat, and in no time they'd be at each other's throats for..."

"Look at this, Warrior with Muraco over his head, drops him down on the mat!" Monsoon concentrated on the ring action, "Fuji yelling at his man to get up, but I think he's too late; Warrior off the ropes, down on top of the Magnificent One, it's over already!"

"I can't believe this," Ventura grumbled as indeed the Warrior got a quick three count and the win, "This has to be some kind of record, Gorilla..."

"Twenty-eight seconds, the timekeeper's telling us. What a victory for the Ultimate Warrior, and if this doesn't impress the Hulkster and friends, I don't know what will..."

* * *

><p>"Boring," Savage was completely unconvinced back in the locker room, "What kind of a win was that? He used all those same moves in his last three matches; no originality at all, yeah."<p>

"Well the words Warrior and original don't..." Hulk started to agree, but stopped at the sound of a loud hissing a few rows down the locker room, followed by a zipping sound. The champion walked around the corner, to where Steamboat was now hefting a blue duffel bag that was moving. "He has enough air in case the match goes long, Ricky?" he asked the Dragon, staring at the bag.

"There is a hatch I can pop open for more, Hulkster," Steamboat told him, popping it open to demonstrate, "If Roberts so much as goes for Damien, that python's going to meet his match."

"Just please be careful, Ricky," Elizabeth leaned past Hulk, looking concerned, "You know more than most of us how twisted Roberts is. He tried to end your career last time; I'm guessing he'll be trying again."

"I'm not afraid of him," the Dragon said confidently, striking a firm martial arts pose, "Tonight, he pays for what he did to me, what he did emotionally to Bonnie, and what he did to all the fans who believe in me. Wish me luck."

"Good luck, Dragon," Hulk gave his hand a firm shaking. Steamboat did the same with Andre and Elizabeth, but merely nodded at Savage and turned to head for the tunnel, despite Savage having extended his hand. "Now don't tell me he still doesn't trust me after all this time?" the Macho Man looked miffed.

"Well Randy, like I told you the night we met, what you did to him was pretty ugly," Elizabeth reminded him, "It's kind of hard to forget that overnight, even after the person's made an effort to change like you have."

"I don't know what else I have to do to convince him I'm a changed man," Savage shook his head, trudging back to their row and the TV to watch the Dragon's match as it unfolded.

"Just give it time, Macho, give it time," was Andre's sage advice. The bench creaked under the Giant's weight when he sat down after turning up the TV's volume, "Till then, hopefully he roasts that Snake alive..."

* * *

><p>"All right, I'm here with Jake Roberts and Damien, who are preparing for their big encounter with Ricky Steamboat, and...AAAAAAAHHH!" Okerlund cried out loud as Roberts ever so casually thrust his pet into the interviewer's face. "Good God, Roberts, you know I don't like it when you do that!" Okerlund upbraided him.<p>

"Well then, I'd say that's as much your fault for not having the spine to stand face to face with Damien," Roberts snickered coldly.

"All right, if I can do this interview without you trying to feed me to Damien, this is your first encounter with Ricky Steamboat since that devastating attack that left him unconscious for an extended period. Are you worried at all that all the threats you've made over the last few weeks to put him out of commission permanently may end up backfiring in your face?"

"A snake, Okerlund, knows no fear," Roberts told him firmly, "I'm scared of no man or beast, and Damien certainly isn't scared of the so-called dragon Ricky Steamboat says will be in his corner tonight, right?" he glanced at his pet, who flicked his tongue rapidly in an apparent yes. "What it is, Gene, is Ricky Steamboat is living in total fear, the fear that, under just the right set of circumstances tonight, I might go beyond just ending his career, and perhaps doing an awful, awful lot worse," he laughed darkly.

"Wait a minute, Jake Roberts, are you actually suggesting that you intend to...?"

"What happens, happens," the Snake cut him off, "And let the record show that it will be Steamboat's fault for thinking he could match up with me. Oh sure, he's just following the pursuit of every man who decides the only way fear can be overcome is to be faced, but whoever invented that saying, he didn't realize that some fears are just too terrible to be overcome. And that's exactly what Damien and I are. It's only fitting that I will be the one to end Ricky Steamboat's career tonight; after all, he knows full well that on the Chinese calendar, when the Year of the Dragon ends, the Year of the Snake begins. And so it shall be with us, with the Snake destroying the Dragon to gain the glory and fame. And my only regret will be that Mrs. Steamboat apparently won't be in attendance to see it happen. Oh but don't you worry, dear, sweet Bonnie," he glared lecherously into the camera, "I'll make sure to send along the tape of your husband's final, agonizing moments to you, so you can relive the end any time you have the spine to. Trust me," he laughed coldly, "_Trust me..." _

"All right, that's enough, just get out of here!" an incensed Okerlund pushed him away, "Gorilla, be glad that you'll be safely up in the broadcast position, away from this psychopath, who has made it clear he may try and go beyond hurting Ricky Steamboat in this next match."

Up in the broadcast position, Monsoon looked sick to his stomach at what had gone down in the interview. "For the record, Jesse, I just dare you to say one positive thing about Jake the Snake after he said something like that," he dared his broadcast partner.

"Well all I have to say is Jake does have a point; Steamboat's a fool trying to come back, probably against his wife's better wishes," Ventura took up the challenge, "So, if Jake follows through with his promise to terminate his career, both he and she have no one to blame but themselves."

"Sometimes, Jesse, you're just as diseased as Jake," Monsoon shook his head in disgust as the bell rang for the next match. "The following contest is scheduled for one fall," came Finkel's latest announcement, "Coming down the aisle, from Stone Mountain, Georgia, weighing 249 pounds, Jake 'the Snake' Roberts!"

_"Trust me...trust me..."_ Roberts's words echoed over the loudspeakers through the Garden before his theme kicked in full blast. "Jake the Snake looking grimly determined as he heads to the ring," Monsoon eyed the man over on his monitor, "He's clearly a man on a mission, although a mission that for the sake of Mrs. Steamboat and their young son I hope never is fulfilled."

"Steamboat ought to quit win or lose; even if Jake doesn't end his career, somebody will down the line, and he'd be setting a bad example to the kid as a crippled, washed-up bum who can't get downstairs without help," Ventura opined.

"Will you stop!? The Dragon doesn't know the meaning of the word 'quit.' Jake the Snake sliding Damien's bag into the corner, and in the other corner, Ricky Steamboat has said he will have his own dragon to counteract the snake."

"Yeah, I wonder how that search turned out?" the Body asked sarcastically.

"We'll see in a moment, because the Dragon is about to appear," Monsoon leaned back in his chair. Moments later, Roberts's theme was replaced by the strains of the Alan Parsons Project. "His opponent," Finkel continued, "from Honolulu, Hawaii, weighing 237 pounds, here is Ricky 'the Dragon' Steamboat!"

"The Dragon high-fiving the fans as he comes out, and take a look, Jesse, he does have a bag with him," Monsoon noticed it in Steamboat's hand.

"So what? He's probably loaded that thing up with weights, which I'm wagering he'll then use as a foreign object on Roberts the first chance he gets."

"The Dragon doesn't fight like that, Jesse. Steamboat laying the bag down in the corner; whoa, take a look, that bag is in fact moving around and then some. Whatever's in there, I can say right now, it's probably an easy match for Damien. Steamboat now starting...look out, here comes Roberts from behind-splashes Steamboat hard into the turnbuckle! Now he's pressing his neck into the rope...!"

"That's very smart wrestling by Roberts there; he knows Steamboat's throat is his weak spot, and he's going to exploit that weakness as best he can."

"Just so he doesn't go too far, like he seems to be doing now. Roberts snaps Steamboat back off the ropes; the Dragon's still got his ring attire on, so fast was he blindsided. Roberts goes airborne, drives the knees into the Dragon's throat. A cover, one, t-no, pulls him back up; he's not done punishing him yet. And Roberts hurls him right out of the ring."

"Already Steamboat's probably regretting signing this match, Gorilla. It ain't too late for him to simply give up and submit to..."

"Roberts now going up to the top rope, perched right over Steamboat, he leaps-and Steamboat catches him with the knees! Steamboat crawling to his feet, kicks Roberts hard in the chest, and now he finally gets to take off that headband and gi. Steamboat picks Roberts up-big suplex on the mat!"

"Well he's not going to beat him out there; he's got to get the Snake into the ring to finish him."

"The Dragon now in fact rolling Roberts into the ring; now he's going up to the top rope, one of his favorite positions. We're about to see the Dragon fly...hard flying slam on top of Roberts! Hooks the leg: one, two...no, rake of the eyes by Jake the Snake breaks the cover. Steamboat with a hard chop to Roberts's face..."

"Oh yeah, those ever popular, controversial chops the Dragon likes to dish out; should have known he'd be 'dragon' them out at some point, Gorilla."

"That's not the least bit funny, Jesse. Steamboat with an arm drag, brings Jake the Snake down again. Another cover: one, two...and another rake of the eyes by the Snake; he's moving on instinct now. Steamboat hauls him up...and Roberts reverses and grabs the head; I think he's trying for the DDT already, and...no, Steamboat slips out before he could deliver it. Now the Dragon with a karate kick, and the Snake goes sprawling!"

"Yeah, it wouldn't be a complete Steamboat performance if he didn't bring in those controversial karate kicks to go with the chops."

"Will you stop!? Steamboat grabs the legs, here comes a slingshot...right into the turnbuckle. Jake the Snake staggering; he has no idea where he is. Another Steamboat arm drag takes him down again. Cover: one, two...no. That hand was coming down for the three, though. Steamboat off the ropes, goes airborne...and Roberts up to deck him in the chest!"

"Looks like Jake the Snake was playing a little possum, and the Dragon got bit."

"Jake the Snake getting back to his feet, kicks Ricky Steamboat over contemptuously. Drops the elbow on his face, now he covers: one, two...no. Roberts hauls Steamboat...no, he's dragging him towards the ropes-under the ropes, and look at this, pulling back on Steamboat's head against the ropes!"

"Again, smart wrestling by Jake; exploiting Steamboat's weakness."

"Jake the Snake pulling back hard; now he smashes Steamboat's face into the mat and stomps on his back. Cover: one, two...and again the Dragon survives."

"Jake should go for the DDT right now; he's got Steamboat down and out, and the least he can do is finish this while he can."

"Roberts instead holding off on the DDT for now, slithering out of the ring, seizing Steamboat's leg, pulls it around the post...wham, rams it into it! Now he's got...whoa, Steamboat surprises him with a chop to the throat!"

"That's terrible; he has no right to aim for there!"

"How can you say that, when Jake's been going straight for his throat all night!? The Dragon on one foot, hopping towards Jake, bicycle kick sends him down! Steamboat sliding back into the ring as the count continues; we're up to four now. Roberts crawling along the outside of the ring, now he's climbing in with the count at seven, but Steamboat right over him. Elbow to the head; now a whip to the corner and another chop sends the Snake down again. Cover: one, two...and he got his shoulder up at the last minute. Steamboat whips him into the corner, jumps over him on the rebound, jumps over him again...and Roberts grabs the far rope to stop his momentum. Steamboat charges him...whoa, Roberts flips him over his head out of the ring!"

"Good alertness by Jake there; now he should finish him as soon as possible, either with the DDT or whatever else he can manage."

"Roberts looking furious that he hasn't finished him yet as he slithers out of the ring. A hard stomp to Steamboat's throat, and then another!"

"Hey, it's all perfectly legal, Monsoon, as long as he's careful."

"Roberts picking him Steamboat up, carrying him towards-oh no, drops his throat right on the barriers! Steamboat gasping for air...!"

"We're going to get a submission now; Steamboat can't take much more of this."

"And Roberts now wrapping the TV cable around Steamboat's throat from behind; gimme a break!" Monsoon roared, "Referee Jack Krueger counting them both; we could see a second double countout if we're not...oh look at this, Steamboat rears up and wraps his feet around Jake's neck! Jake stumbles, and falls backwards on the steel steps; that's going to hurt! The count's at six; will either of them make it back in!? Steamboat rising to his feet, he's glancing up at the ref, and slides under the ropes with the count at eight. Roberts starting to get up, will he make it in time? He's going...no, there's the bell, and Steamboat wins!" he proclaimed as the referee raised Steamboat's hand in victory, "What a brilliant maneuver by Ricky Steamboat, who managed to turn the tables on Jake the Snake to earn the victory!"

"Well he got lucky, I say; if Jake had just gone for the DDT when he had the chance, he might have..."

"Hold on, Jake now coming into the ring behind Steamboat, he looks livid-and Pearl Harbors the Dragon from behind!" Monsoon groaned in disgust, "Jake Roberts now with a blatant chokehold on Ricky Steamboat; what a sore loser!"

"He has a right to be; Steamboat using controversial tactics all through the match, he probably should have been disqualified at some point during..."

"Hang on, Roberts going into his boot, what's he got there? Looks like a strap of some-and he wraps that around Steamboat's throat! Jake Roberts choking Ricky Steamboat with a strap...oh no, he shoves him out of the ring with the strap still around his neck-and he's tying the other end off to the top rope!" Monsoon was aghast at the horrifying turn of events, "Jake Roberts trying to hang Ricky Steamboat in front of a live worldwide TV audience; there is no way you can possibly condone this, Jesse!"

"No, I can't condone it, Gorilla, but give Jake points for originality again. And give him credit for keeping his word; he said he'd try and end Steamboat's career or worse, and he's doing just that right now."

"You're impossible, you know that!? Steamboat gasping desperately for air, hanging over the side of the ring; please somebody get him down, quick! Roberts shoves Krueger away when the referee tries to help Steamboat, and now he's going for Damien's bag; no, not that on top of everything else! Not that snake for...wait, Steamboat swinging himself backwards over the top rope; his feet are back on solid ground! The Dragon now going along the apron for his own bag; let's see what he's got in there! Steamboat trapping the bag between his feet, leaning against the post, flips the bag upwards with his feet, now undoing the zipper with his teeth..."

"But here comes Roberts with Damien; it'll be a moot point if he doesn't get whatever's in there out in time."

"But the bag is open...yes, Steamboat with a dragon in hand!" Monsoon declared at the sight of the large reptile in the Dragon's palms, which he thrust at Roberts, sending his opponent to a grinding halt in the middle of the ring, even though he had Damien in hand.

"Are you kidding me, Gorilla; that's no dragon, that's not even a komodo dragon; that looks like an alligator to me!" Ventura complained, "Steamboat ought to be sued for false advertising for this; he promised we would get a...!"

"Steamboat slips off the strap, and now staring Jake the Snake down," Monsoon ignored him, "The two of them glaring at...whoa, Steamboat charging with his dragon, and rams Jake and Damien clean out of the ring! This place is going bananas! Jake gathers up Damien and heads for the exit; I hope WWF president Jack Tunney gives him at least a huge fine if not a major suspension for this; he could have killed Steamboat trying that!"

"Yeah, yeah, you would do anything to get Jake banned for life, wouldn't you?"

"It's about common decency, Jesse, and Jake the Snake showed none tonight. Let's go back to the replay: look at this, a clear foreign object by Jake the Snake in his boot, which he then tries to strangle the life out of the Dragon with by attempting to hang him. You cannot rationalize that, Jesse, period."

"Hey, you do whatever it takes to win, Gorilla."

"And that's why the kids don't like you, Jesse. At any rate, Ricky Steamboat victorious in this one via countout, and he's getting a huge ovation here as he holds that dragon..."

"_Alligator_; call it right, Gorilla."

"All right, his alligator high; he took the beating of his life, but he lived to tell about it. Let's go now once again to Gene Okerlund, who's now backstage with the Nature Boy Ric Flair and Classy Freddie Blassie..."

* * *

><p>"All right, Ric Flair, in a little while, you will be facing Tito Santana in the Figure Four Leglock Challenge, and first and foremost, I hope you are not thinking of using any of the utterly deplorable tactics used by Jake 'the Snake' Roberts in the last match when the time comes," Okerlund frowned sternly at the Nature Boy and his manager at the interview location.<p>

""Of course not, Gene, you're just being paranoid; the Real World's Champion here would never dream of hanging anyone," Blassie flashed a huge, fake smile.

"Tell me why I am not convinced of that, Freddie Blassie?" Okerlund visibly wasn't buying it, "I cite the recent world title match against Hulk Hogan when your man here tried to all but rip Hulk Hogan's leg off to get the world title; now, facing the challenge of being the best man with the Figure Four Leglock, your man Ric Flair better watch it, for after what he just witnessed in the last match, I can guarantee the referee will jump on any chicanery by the two of you."

"Chicanery? They don't even know what chicanery means," Flair declared almost arrogantly. "Tito Santana," he pointed threateningly into the camera, "All men have their fun and games every now and then-hell, I have loads of fun every time I step into the ring-but play time always comes to an end, and tonight, big man, it'll be my pleasure to end your play time. Tonight, you will pay the price for plagiarism, for only I am the master of the Figure Four Leglock, and you stole my move to try and make yourself look like a halfway decent human being! Tonight, the master will school the ripoff artist on how to get the job done. And if you, Tito Santana, think for one second you are qualified to wear the belt of the Real World's Champion, well, you have even more screws loose than I thought, WOOOOOOO!"

"You tell him, champ; let's go teach that upstart hack a lesson he'll never forget!" Blassie laughed, leading Flair towards the curtain. "All right, Gorilla, the Nature Boy makes it clear in no uncertain terms he is prepared to go the extra mile to prove that he does the Figure Four Leglock better than anyone else. Back to you," Okerlund tossed it back to the commentators.

"You know, we're forgetting something else in the heat of this," Ventura spoke up before Monsoon could comment on the Nature Boy's comments, "Let's not forget that Greg 'the Hammer' Valentine is also quite good with the Figure Four; now him versus Flair would be a terrific matchup, so why it ended up Flair versus Chico, I have no idea."

"Probably, Jesse, because the Hammer had too many contractual obligations signed for this week to participate in Summer Slam," Monsoon pointed out, "And technically, he wouldn't have to face Santana since Tito already bested him for the Intercontinental title way back when and proved himself the better wrestler; no need, then, for them to meet again."

"I wasn't talking about Hammer-Chico; Hammer-Flair would be an instant classic, and a better yardstick of who does the..."

"More on that later; right now, it's time for the big six man match, so let's go get the intros there," Monsoon turned back to his monitor as the bell rang again, and a hip old-style rock and roll theme broke out to the announcement, "The following is a six man tag team contest, scheduled for one fall. Being led to the ring by their manager, Colonel Jimmy Hart, at a total combined weight of 832 pounds: from Memphis, Tennessee, the Honky Tonk Man, and, from Allentown, Pennsylvania, Brian Knobbs and Jerry Saggs, the Nasty Boys!" "What an interest trio the Colonel came up with here for this one," the commentator remarked, "Honky Tonk Man and the Nasty Boys epitomizing cocky finesse with hardcore brawling..."

"Hey, give them their due, Gorilla, Honky IS the greatest Intercontinental champ of all time, and the Nasties are easily one of the best tag teams in the WWF today," the Body countered.

"If by the greatest Intercontinental champion, you mean the best at running from his opponents and deliberately getting himself disqualified like a coward to save the title the hard way, then certainly the Honky Tonk Man was the best. Otherwise, a lot of people would see only a poor Elvis knockoff and two ugly punks-who, as I've heard, might still be facing charges for vandalism back home in Allentown. Their opponents are no slouches themselves...and here they come," Monsoon exclaimed as a loud, "HOOOOOO!" rang out over the sound systems and the opposing team charged full tilt through the curtains to the announcement, "Their opponents, at a total combined weight of 721 pounds, from Glen Falls, New York, 'Hacksaw' Jim Duggan, and, from San Antonio, Texas, Shawn Michaels and Marty Jannetty, the Rockers!"

"HOOOOO!" the actual Duggan shouted himself, rushing into the ring and waving his trademark two by four wildly over his head, prompting the opposing team to back away from him. "There we go again, Duggan blatantly flaunting the rules with that illegal foreign object of his!" Ventura complained, "Why he hasn't been banned for using that, I don't know!"

"For the record, Jesse, that two by four has been officially cleared by World Wrestling Federation officials for use at ringside, and suffice to say, Jim Duggan has not misused it so far during his time here."

"I don't think so, jack; what do you call his sneak attack on Volkoff the other week while he was singing his country's anthem!?"

"Lest you forget, he never actually struck Volkoff with it, and he's made a solemn vow to wrestling fans and the people of this great country of ours that Nikolai Volkoff will not continue to verbally assault us with the Soviet Anthem."

"Well if we're the land of the free and the home of the brave as he says-and we certainly are-doesn't that preclude letting Volkoff sing the song!?"

"Not when the Soviets have been going around trying to force their way of life on other countries, as I see it. We'll have more of a discussion on that later; right now, Duggan climbing out of the ring, as it'll be Shawn Michaels starting out against Jerry Saggs in this one. Rockers and Nasty Boys having a very long and heated rivalry dating back well before both teams came here to the WWF, and both men now trading punches hard to start this match off. Shawn sends Saggs staggering with a hard right hook into the ropes, now launches himself at him...and Saggs throws him over his head and out..."

"Ha ha, the high flyer crashed and burned!" Jimmy mockingly taunted Michaels through his megaphone right in the face. "Give it to him, Saggs, baby, give it to him!" he instructed his man, who obligingly dove off the apron to nail Michaels with an axhandle. "Saggs with the early edge in this one, sets up to ram Michaels into the ringpost-no, Shawn reverses it and rams him into it!" Monsoon exclaimed, "Shawn Michaels with a new burst of speed, rolls Saggs into the ring, climbing up to the top rope, and here comes a flying dropkick-and down goes Saggs! The cover: one, two...Knobbs in to make the save. Michaels twisting Saggs's arm, and a kick to the chest, followed by a short clothesline. Tag to his partner, and now he and Marty Jannetty throw Saggs into the ropes..."

"But there's the tag to Honky; I don't think the Rockers saw it."

"I don't either; Honky Tonk Man running into the ring behind the rebounding Saggs...whoa, Honky leaps over them and downs both Rockers with a flying tackle! And he's on Jannetty for the cover: one...Shawn rolls him off..."

"That's terrible; he should not be in the ring interfering like that!"

"Speaking of which, Saggs helping Honky kick Jannetty in the back; he should have been out a while ago himself. Referee finally herding Saggs and Michaels out as the Honky Tonk Man scoops Jannetty up, and there's a big slam. Honky strutting confidently around the ring, drops the elbow on Marty. Now he throws him into the corner and dishes out an elbow in the face too. Honky Tonk Man swiveling the hips confidently; as you alluded to, Jesse, he is in fact the longest reigning Intercontinental champion of all time, and would love nothing better than to get that piece of gold back."

"And I think he'd have a great chance to get it if the Hitman wasn't running scared from him."

"Now come on, Jesse, that's not how it is; Bret Hart has so many additional Intercontinental title matches he's already signed over the next few months to take care of first-and lest you forget, he's said he's more than willing to give the Honky Tonk Man his shot once all the contractual matches have taken place."

"I don't think so; he's ducking Honky and you know it."

"And I think that's a big misrepresentation when the Hitman has perhaps defended the Intercontinental title more than any previous champion, including the Honky Tonk Man himself. In the meantime, Jannetty with an elbow to the chest, and another to break the armbar the Honky Tonk Man had him in, and now pulls him close for a clothesline! Marty off the ropes, down on the chest, and a cover: one, two...Knobbs with another save...and a cheap shot blow to the back as Jannetty turns away. Marty chases him back to his corner...and a hard right to the face by Saggs as well...and now Knobbs grabs the head and gives him a Pit Stop!" he groaned as Knobbs merrily rubbed Jannetty's face into Saggs's armpit.

"Well that's Jannetty's fault for being gullible enough to go into their corner; when you run into the lion's den, you get pounced on."

"Honky Tonk Man grabs Jannetty from behind, hip toss into the corner, and now Honky jumps on his back. Honky Tonk Man holding the top rope, jumping up and down on Jannetty...and he makes the tag to Duggan; referee Jack Lotz saw it, but Honky didn't...and he pulls Honky down into a small package from behind! One, two...rake of the eyes by Honky breaks the cover. But Hacksaw with a full head of steam, and whoa, a hard clothesline flattens Honky!"

"HOOOOOOOOOO!" Duggan thrust his arm skyward, then pounded it down on the Honky Tonk Man's back repeatedly. He then picked up and slammed the Elvis impersonator and gave him a diving punch to the face. "U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" he shouted to the crowd, who returned his chant in force. Grinning, he flung the Honky Tonk Man into the corner and splashed him hard. "Hacksaw on a roll now, driving the head into Honky's chest, and now another small package...this time Saggs in to break up the cover. Hard chop to Honky's face, and a twist of the arm; Honky Tonk Man shrieking in overblown agony-which gets louder as Duggan nails him in the arm. Twists the arm the other way...and Honky rakes the eyes again to make him let go. Honky Tonk Man rushing for his corner...no, Duggan grabs him before he can reach the Nasty Boys and gives him a hip toss across the ring. Duggan into the ropes...and a kick to the back by Knobbs...!"

"That was inevitable; Duggan doesn't have enough brain power in his empty head to pay attention to the whole match."

"Will you stop!?" Knobbs tagged in now, kick to Duggan's chest, poke right for the eyes, now whips Hacksaw into the ropes...Duggan leaps over him on the rebound...but Saggs nails him in the face by the far ropes, and down he goes. Knobbs spreads the legs, and a stomp where it really hurts-and now a headbutt there too. Typical roughhouse tactics by the Nasty Boys in this one..."

"Well of course, Gorilla; how can they expect to be called 'the Nasty Boys' if they don't play rough?"

"And I'm sure you approve of all this too, Jesse. Knobbs whips Duggan hard into the corner and a hard splash. Knobbs turns around rams the rear end into him as well...and look at this, Saggs choking him out with the turnbuckle rope too, and Honky Tonk Man pummeling him in the ribs too; this is unfair!"

"Hey, you win any way you can, Gorilla, and if the ref doesn't want to call it, don't push him."

"Referee being distracted by Jimmy Hart so Jim Duggan can be triple teamed like this. Another kick to the chest by Knobbs, and now a tag to his partner. Saggs with hard blows to Duggan's back...and Knobbs not leaving the ring, helping his partner pound away on Duggan...!"

"Well, good partners stick up for each other, you know that?"

"How is double teaming a guy standing up for each other!? Duggan into the ropes, straining for but missing the tag to Jannetty, and he's flattened by a double running clothesline. Saggs with the cover: one, two...just escaped the three count. Both Nasty Boys STILL in the ring, Honky Tonk Man running in now; referee Lotz turns to herd him back out...and behind his back, the Nasty Boys give Duggan that patented double neckbreaker of theirs. A look there at the Rockers looking on helplessly from their corner; they can't come in unless they're tagged in, and things looking a bit bleak now for 'Hacksaw' Jim Duggan, who gets picked up and dropped throat-first on the ropes by Saggs. Duggan crawling out of the ring, trying to get some air, but Saggs right out after him, and here comes a suplex outside the ring-spot on. And look out, Knobbs off the apron with an axhandle, and ANOTHER double teaming by the Nasty Boys! Duggan being pounded hard into the mats..."

"Shut the hell up!" Saggs roared contemptuously at the fans booing he and Knobbs in the front row. He hauled Duggan up and rammed his head hard into the timekeepers' table before rolling him back into the ring. He then climbed up to the top rope and swan-dove hard onto Duggan's chest and hooked the leg for the cover, but again could only manage a two count. "Honky Tonk Man tagged back in, shaking his hips hard again as he winds up and delivers the hard elbow to Duggan's face. Toss into the ropes, and a flying tackle takes Duggan down again. Another cover: one, two...another last minute escape by Hacksaw," Monsoon fiddled nervously with his bowtie.

"Duggan can't last much longer; he's taken way too much damage here," Ventura predicted confidently.

"That most assuredly remains to be seen. Honky Tonk Man giving Hacksaw an atomic drop, now a hard chop to the face in the corner, and a big suplex. And now the confident look on the Honky Tonk Man's face as he hauls Duggan back up..."

"He's going for the Shake, Rattle & Roll; this is it."

"Honky Tonk Man with Jim Duggan's head under his armpit, and indeed, there's the Shake...and there's the Rat-no, Duggan pushes him backwards into the ropes to break it up! Hard elbow to the chest, and Hacksaw breaks free, lunges across the ring...and the tag to Shawn Michaels! Michaels into the ring in a flash, downs the Honky Tonk Man with a running clothesline, and now a second, and a third! Scoops him up on the rebound, and whoa, a running sidewalk slam! This kid's a great talent!"

"He just caught Honky off guard, that's all."

"That's not how it's shaping up now: Michaels off the ropes, and a dropkick to the chest sends the Honky Tonk Man into the ropes. Honky backing away from Michaels, waving his arms wildly, begging him to stop...and a kick to the chest by Michaels..."

"Yeah, that's really sporting, kicking a man who's trying to surrender!"

"And you may remember how often the Honky Tonk Man has suckered his opponents with such a move, only to flatten them a moment later? Shawn Michaels too smart for that-and now a tag to his partner. Marty Jannetty with a diving leave over the rope onto the Honky Tonk Man's chest, and a cover: one, two...no. Both Rockers throw the Honky Tonk Man into the ropes, and whoa, a double kick to the face...!"

"Illegal double teaming at its finest; these guys are a disgrace!"

"After the Nasty Boys have done it more often and more flagrantly throughout this match!? And look, Michaels well out of the ring now as Jannetty throws Honky into the corner hard; tide has shifted dramatically in this one. Jannetty throws Honky into the far ropes, leaps over him on the rebound...leaps over him again...and a dropkick takes him down again. Tag to Duggan..."

"HOOOOOOOO!" Duggan roared to the crowd once more, dropping into a three point stance and charging full steam at the dazed Honky Tonk Man, flattening him with a hard clothesline. "Hacksaw with that patented finishing move of his, and here's the cover: one, two...both Nasty Boys with a diving save...and here come the Rockers into the ring, and here comes a full-on melee!" Monsoon exclaimed.

"Referee's lost control of this one, that's for sure."

"All six men in the ring, brawling hard with each other; referee trying to restore order...what's this, Saggs grabbing Duggan's two by four from the corner, he's coming up from behind...oh no!" Monsoon grimaced as Saggs walloped Duggan hard in the back of the head with his own weapon. Duggan fell over hard to the mat with a low thud. Saggs quickly tossed the two by four out of the ring, pushed the Honky Tonk Man down on top of Duggan then tapped Lotz-who'd been distracted by Knobbs and Jannetty brawling and hadn't seen the sneak attack-on the shoulder and pointed to the apparent cover. The referee dove to the floor and gave the Honky Tonk Man a quick three count to a tremendous booing. "I love it, I love it," Ventura, in contrast, was applauding, "FINALLY, somebody had the brains to use that two by four against Duggan. Let's see how he likes getting a taste of his own medicine."

"That was pathetic, Jesse!" a furious Monsoon upbraided him, "Jim Duggan has so far here in the WWF only used that two by four in self-defense; that was a hideous sneak attack by Saggs for a cheap victory for their team. Jimmy Hart jumping all over the ring, raising his men's arms high, but this is as tainted a victory as they come!"

"That's your opinion, Gorilla."

"And one I believe that is shared by everyone here in the Boston Garden. Take a look at the replay again: Saggs from behind, a cold, calculating blow to Duggan's head...!"

"Well Duggan shouldn't have brought the two by four to the ring in the first place; hopefully this'll teach him a hard lesson."

Hacksaw Duggan still flat in the ring as his opponents dance and prance back out the aisle; the Rockers helping him up, looks like they're going to give him a hand back to the locker room for medical assistance. Give them credit for this match, though; they all gave it their best."

"But it's the loss that'll be remembered, Gorilla."

"Or rather, the manner in which the Honky Tonk Man and the Nasty Boys won-in the record book only," Monsoon glared the Body down, "All right, coming up right now, the Figure Four Leglock Challenge; both Ric Flair and Tito Santana have become experts with the move; now we'll see which of them can do it better."

"Let me put it this way, Gorilla: if Chico thinks he's fit to walk in the Real World's Champion's footsteps with ANY move, let alone his signature one, he's as stupid as they come. And furthermore..."

"Hold your water, Jesse; here we go," Monsoon cut him off as the bell rang for the match in question. "The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is the Figure Four Leglock Challenge," Finkel told the crowd, "The rules hold that the winner of this match is the one who makes his opponent submit to the Figure Four Leglock, and the match can only end with the application of the Figure Four Leglock. The winner of this bout in addition will also gain possession of the Real World's Champion belt. And now, the participants; first, coming down the aisle with his manager, 'Classy' Freddie Blassie, from Charlotte, North Carolina, weighing 242 pounds, here is the self-proclaimed Real World's Champion, Nature Boy Ric Flair!"

"WOOOOOOO!" Flair bellowed, clearly pumped up for the encounter. "Confidence oozing out of the so-called Real World's Champion; from what we've heard, he was quite dismissive of Tito Santana way back when Santana came to him for some pointers," Monsoon related, watching the two men enter the ring and Blassie remove his man's robe and Real World's Champion title belt, "Wouldn't it be fitting, Jesse, if Santana proved himself a better man than Flair in this encounter and thus became, in essence, the Real World's Champion?"

"Which, I can guarantee now, ain't gonna happen; Chico doesn't deserve to be mentioned in the same sentence as Flair, much less the same zip code..."

"Hold that thought, because Santana's about to make his entrance right about now," Monsoon pointed towards the aisle right as salsa-style music filled the Garden. "And his opponent, from Tocula, Mexico, weighing 234 pounds, Tito Santana!" Finkel declared.

"Santana looking pumped as he runs down to the ring; as I just mentioned, he's been looking forward to this moment for a good long while," Monsoon remarked.

"Chico may be pumped up, but energy only gets you so far, Gorilla; Flair knows every move in the book, and I can promise you, he's going throw all of them at Chico before he goes for the Figure Four."

"It's TITO, Jesse; please try and get it right," Monsoon groaned, shaking his head in disgust.

"That's what I said; Chico."

Monsoon let out an audible growl of frustration as the bell rang. "Both men locking up in the center of the ring," he picked up the commentary, "Santana now with an arm drag, takes Flair down-but Flair flips him over into a crucifix and smashes him in the face with the elbow. Ordinarily this would be a pretty good cover, but of course neither man's going for a cover in this match."

"Nope. And Flair knows he's got to do a whole lot more to Chico to soften him up, so he's wisely giving a couple of hard stomps to the groin here."

"Will we see Flair go for the Figure Four right away-no, slingshots Santana into the turnbuckle instead. Tito clutching his forehead from the blow; Flair takes him by the arm, whips him into the ropes, and...look at this, Santana slides under the legs and grabs them for a sunset flip! Flair swaying, leaning backwards...no, slug to the face breaks the hold. Flair drops the elbow again on Santana's face, and then to the chest (he grimaced as Flair triumphantly let out another ear-splitting, "WOOOOO!"). The supposed Real World's Champion heading up to the top rope; this is a high-risk maneuver, whatever he's planning. Flair leaps-and misses! Santana rolls out the way in time-and he grabs Flair's legs; he's going to try for it now! Santana twisting the leg...no, scissor kick by Flair to the head breaks it off. But Tito still with the advantage as he whips Flair into the ropes-whoa, flips him over his head for the slam; check out the verticality on Flair!"

"If I were Flair, Gorilla, I'd get out of the ring now and take a breather; Chico has the edge at the moment, and he won't let up."

"No he certainly won't; Santana's made it clear he really wants to win this one. And now he's off the ropes; big flying splash on Flair. He grabs the legs again; here we go again! Santana bending the...and Flair raking the eyes to make him stop this time. And the Nature Boy sends him reeling with a chop to the face."

"Good recovery by Flair; he waited for the right moment, and now he can pour it on."

"Kick to the chest by Ric Flair, now whips Santana into the turn-no, Santana swings him around..."

"No, Flair reversed it again, Gorilla..."

"Both men swinging in circles trying to get the advantage here...and Santana gets the edge and slams Flair into the corner! And now...no, Flair slides away and Tito smashes hard into the turnbuckle.

"Good reflexes by Flair there; he's come into this match prepared."

"Flair now presses Santana's neck into the ropes; snaps him back down to the mat. And now he grabs the legs and tries for the Figure Four-but no, Santana puts his head in a scissor lock and slams it down hard to the mat!" Monsoon proclaimed loudly over the cheers. He took a quick swig of water from his nearby glass before continuing, "Santana drops the elbow on Flair's back; he grabs the legs for another try. Flair fighting it, trying to keep the legs apart-wait, he grabs Tito by the head and snaps him over! Flair now back on his feet, bounces off the ropes, down hard on his chest. Now it's his turn for the Figure Four again...he's almost got Santana's leg bent...but no, a kickout by Tito and a beauty! And Flair's sent flying hard into the turnbuckle, and I think he might have hurt the shoulder!"

"What a filthy, dirty tactic by Chico; I'll bet he planned that on purpose to deliberately hurt Flair...!"

"It was all in self-defense, Jesse; he certainly didn't mean it, especially when he was on the verge of being Figure Foured. Santana now flips Flair into the other turnbuckle, big splash on him. Freddie Blassie looking frustrated outside the ring, yelling at Flair to get with the program here. Flair, though looking dazed as Tito goes into the ropes-there it is, big flying forearm smash, and down goes the Nature Boy!"

"Flair better think of something quick; he's starting to fade, no thanks to Chico's rotten tactics..."

"It's TITO, Jesse!"

"Like I said, Chico Santana is a dirty wrestler through and through."

"As I've said throughout this whole broadcast, Jesse, you're impossible. Santana going again for the Figure Four-and he's got it on! Flair flailing; this may be the end for him...!"

"But look, Flair's still thinking smart, he's crawling towards the ropes for all it's worth..."

"Indeed, Nature Boy crawling for the ropes, and now he's under them, and Santana will have to break the hold. And indeed he does once referee Freddie Sparta informs him of...look at this, Flair with a cheap shot out of nowhere!" he exclaimed as Flair abruptly leaped up and smashed Tito across the back of the head as hard as he could before he could turn around.

"That wasn't a cheap shot; that was payback for Chico's cheap shot earlier on."

"Flair now with a blatant chokehold against the ropes; elbow to the face of Tito Santana. Off the far ropes, and Flair with a dropkick sending him clean out of the ring! Blassie picks him up and rolls him back in, and gives Flair the sign to finish him. Flair grabs the legs again, he's twisting the right one, Tito's fighting it, but it looks like Flair's got the...but look at this, Tito grabs Flair's legs too and twists them into position too; I don't believe it! Both men are now actually applying the Figure Four Leglock on each other!"

"I've never seen anything like this, Gorilla, never seen the hold applied by both wrestlers at the same time. Let's see which one cracks first."

"Flair and Santana both with the leglock applied, both straining for all it's worth!" Monsoon was on his feet, as was half the crowd, "Looking at their faces, both men in extreme pain, but neither one wants to submit; they could be doing serious long term damage here to each other! Referee looking at both of them; maybe he's going to call it a draw for their safety."

"But neither man'll be satisfied with that, Gorilla; they want the win and they want it bad."

"Wait a minute, here comes Blassie up right behind Tito...oh no, cane shot to the head by Blassie; referee did not see it!" Monsoon lamented seconds after the Classy One smashed his cane as hard as he could over Tito's head. Tito immediately crumpled limply to the floor, just as Sparta turned around and noticed, then raised and dropped his arm three times to trigger the bell. "Here is your winner of the Figure Four Leglock Challenge, Ric Flair!" came Finkel's announcement to a chorus of boos from the fans, who had also seen Blassie's dirty deed. "A major win here by Flair; this should easily get him another crack at Hogan," Ventura predicted with a grin.

"I call it a miscarriage of justice myself; I think Flair was just about to submit before Blassie got involved in the match. Let's take a look at the replay," an incensed Monsoon watched the footage come up again on his monitor, "Look at Flair; he's clearly about to surrender, then along comes Blassie on the outside, and wham, Santana's seeing stars! And you really call this a honest win by Flair!"

"Well, you take what you get, Monsoon, and..."

"Speaking of taking, look at this: Flair whipping Santana with that Real World's Champion belt!" Monsoon's ire increased as Flair whacked the prone Tito hard, leaving a visible welt. "See? See? That's what you get when you try and tangle with the Real World's Champion, WOOOOOOO!" the Nature Boy audibly taunted his foe, kicking Tito out of the ring and raising the belt high to mock him. He then embraced Blassie and let out another, "WOOOOOOO!" as they climbed down out of the ring and walked out arm in arm. "These two are despicable!" Monsoon upbraided them, "That was no fair win regardless of what you say, Jesse; Ric Flair does not deserve to be called master of the Figure Four Leglock, and he certainly does not deserve another crack at Hulk Hogan. Speaking of the Hulkster, folks, stay tuned to this broadcast, because the big main event featuring him and the Macho Man against Freddie Blassie's Mega Mercenaries is coming up very soon; first though, the tag team titles will be on the line; it's Demolition versus the Brainbusters, coming your way next..."


	11. Chapter 11

"Good man, Freddie; knew you could salvage this card if no one else could," Don Vincenelli smiled back at his villa at the Classy One disappearing from behind the curtains on TV.

"So, you and he go way back, huh?" one of his dates asked him, cuddling closer with him.

"Yep, Blassie sold out to his dad when he was still wrestling," Stefano spoke up from the nearest beach chair, where he was slurping loudly on a margarita, "Blassie always wanted to win the world title more than anything, and he'd do anything to get it, including taking our help in return for favors for us. Unfortunately, he never could quite get the world title now matter how much he bent the rules to his favor, but he's stayed good and loyal to us after he started managing, and even after the old don was shot sixty-eight times in the bathroom at the bus station by the guys controlling the Florida Territory, which got my uncle here to his..."

"Stefano, not about that, please," Don Vincenelli held up his hand, "I've got enough to worry about, like getting at least one title today. For Heenan's sake, I hope his Brainbusters can come through in the next match; I'd really hate to have to kill him when he makes me laugh so much."

"Well, looks like it's just about ready," the don's other date pointed at the screen, where Heenan was starting down the aisle with the Brainbusters.

"Good, good," Stefano rubbed his hands eagerly, "Someone needs to put Demolition in their place; I know we don't control Fuji yet, Uncle Kenny, but I kind of felt betrayed when they turned on him for dumping them."

"Now if I did control Fuji, Stefano, he wouldn't have pulled that trick mid-match," his uncle said firmly, gesturing for Patrizio to turn the volume up, "If you're going to dump someone, you'd better do it in a way that leaves them humiliated and unable to get back at you. Hopefully this is a weak time for them..."

* * *

><p>"The following contest is for the World Wrestling Federation Tag Team Titles, scheduled for one fall," Finkel told the crowd, "First, the challengers: coming down the aisle, accompanied by their manager, Bobby 'the Brain' Heenan, at a total combined weight of 485 pounds, here are Tully Blanchard and Arn Anderson; the Brainbusters!"<p>

"The Brain looking confident as he leads his men to the ring; I think he's finally going to get the tag titles he's been searching for over the last few years," Ventura predicted confidently.

"Really? Well if you ask me, Jesse, I'd say he actually looks a little worried right now," Monsoon disagreed, and indeed, anyone looking closely would have seen Heenan taking a deep, nervous breath as he gathered up his men's jackets and handed them outside the ring, "I have a pretty good idea why, but now's not the time or place to bring my thoughts up."

"Oh really, Gorilla? Well when IS the right time!?"

"Hold that thought, because here come the champs," his broadcast partner turned towards the aisle as the champions' theme kicked in. "Their opponents, from parts unknown, at a total combined weight of 593 pounds, here are the World Wrestling Federation Tag Team Champions: Ax, Smash; Demolition!" Finkel gave a strong introduction to the hooded figures coming towards the ring, visibly swaying with confidence to their theme song blaring over the loudspeakers: "_Here comes the Ax, and here __comes the Smasher; we're Demolition, walking disasters..."_ "Demolition in for perhaps the strongest fight of their tenure as champions against the Brainbusters here tonight," Monsoon offered his own prediction as they climbed into the ring.

"For once we're in agreement, Gorilla; Ax and Smash haven't met anyone like Arn Anderson and Tully Blanchard yet; let us not forget, the Brainbusters have on multiple occasions been tag champions in several other promotions out there, and they've more than proved themselves worthy of this shot."

"On the other hand, Jesse, it works the other way around; Anderson and Blanchard haven't met anyone like Ax and Smash yet-case in point," he hunched up in mild surprise after Ax and Smash whipped off their hoods and stuck their tongues out into the camera, "Let us also not forget that Demolition has successfully defended the tag team titles thirty-one times since they won them sixteen months ago."

"Yeah, but more than half of those wins came under Mr. Fuji's guidance, and I certainly don't see Fuji in their corner right now."

"All for the better, I say; for Fuji to pull a stunt like that and dump these guys mid match, he didn't deserve to be their manager, and suffice to say, Demolition has done quite well without him indeed. There's the bell, and it's going to be Tully against Ax to start it off here. As we've noted before, Demolition has agreed to face tonight's earlier winner, the Legion of Doom, on the next Saturday Night's Main Event, so if they are successful here, that should be one heck of a matchup. As we start, Ax spins Blanchard around and plants him hard. Now he's off the ropes; flying tackle and a beauty. Quick tag to Smash, who goes up to the top rope..."

"Pretty high risk maneuver if you ask me for this stage of the match..."

"Smash leaping...and Blanchard slugs him in the chest halfway down. Now he's crawling to his corner, and a quick tag to Arn Anderson."

"Very smart wrestling there by the Brainbusters; two can play at Demolition's game."

"Arn drops the elbow on Smash; that one looked like it hurt. Now he flings him into the corner, charges in-and gets the big boot to his face for the trouble. Smash up again, he's perched high over the ring, he jumps-and this time the maneuver works; down goes Anderson! A cover: one, two...no. Smash now tagging Ax, who hustles to cut Arn Anderson off before he gets to his corner. Ax sits down hard on his back, now slams him down in a Bulldog. Another cover: one, two...Tully Blanchard runs in to make the save. Ax shoves him backwards..."

"Oh yeah, just like Demolition to go for the deliberate disqualification to save the titles..."

"If Blanchard hadn't just run in, Jesse, there would have been no need to since the match would have been over. Ax now whipping Anderson into the ropes; drops him with a big boot to the face. Another tag to Smash; his partner drops the elbow hard on Arn. Now he's twisting his arm, trying to get a submission or to weaken him up, I suppose."

"But you admit you don't know. Interesting, Gorilla; not quite the professional you always claim to be."

"I'm not going to play that game, Jesse. Arn Anderson looking rather pained from the hold..."

"But he ain't gonna submit; the Brainbusters have never quit before, and they sure ain't gonna quit now with the gold on the line."

"Smash finally releasing the hold; runs into the ropes to-look at that; Tully Blanchard kicks him in the back from outside to stop the attack...and Anderson back to his feet, and now they're double-teaming Smash in the corner; where's the ref!?"

"The ref's over chatting with Heenan; he ought to be fined for making social calls in the middle of matches."

"That's no social call; Heenan's distracting him so his men can do their dirty work; look now, Blanchard choking out Smash with the turnbuckle rope; gimme a break!" Monsoon complained, "Ax yelling at the ref to turn around and see what's going down, and finally he does-in time to see the Brainbusters tag. In comes Tully, Irish whipping Smash into the corner; sends him down with a roundhouse right. Drops the knees on his back...and a cover. This could be the change of...no, Smash gets the shoulders up."

"But look how smart Tully Blanchard is; he still keeps working Smash hard to make sure he doesn't get away."

"And I presume by 'working,' you mean pulling the hair, which I distinctly see Blanchard doing to Smash at the moment; looks like he's choking him out too. Referee Dick Kroll over and in fact admonishing Blanchard on these tactics. Blanchard lets go, smashes Smash's face into the canvas. Now drags him over to the ropes, hooks his neck over the bottom rope-ouch, hops on his back. Gets up-and here comes the Brain, and now he's choking Smash out from outside the ring; Kroll sees none of it...!"

"Hey, he's not perfect, Gorilla, he doesn't have eyes in the back of his head or clairvoyance."

"Smash flung into the ropes again...but ducks under the clothesline, bounces off the far ropes-yes, flattens Blanchard with a flying tackle. Cover...and another run-in saves the Brainbusters. And look out, here comes Ax and he starts brawling with Anderson! All four men now going at it in the ring...!"

"The referee has definitely lost control of this one; he needs to weed out all but the legal men and get this match back on track."

"Dick Kroll finally getting Ax and Anderson outside the ropes-and Demolition with a tag right by the ropes right after Ax climbs out; Tully didn't see this one..."

"You sure about that, Gorilla? I don't know if the hands made contact..."

"Plain as day, and Kroll saw it too. Ax picks Tully up; suplex, and a beauty! Now a whip into the ropes-look out, here comes Anderson to attack...whooooa, Ax hits the deck and Blanchard collides with his partner on the rebound!" Monsoon rose to his feet again, along with half the crowd, "Both Brainbusters down; Ax rolls Arn out of the ring with his foot and tags Smash, who starts climbing up to the top rope. We may be about to see the ever dreaded Demolition Decapitation move."

"Heenan knows it's coming; he's trying to get Arn Anderson back up into the ring to stop it, but it looks like Arn's still in LalaLand..."

"Tully Blanchard cradled in Ax's arms, and down comes Smash with that patented blow to the head! Down to the mat goes Tully, here's the cover, and that's it!"

Sure enough, the referee counted to three, well before a frantic Heenan could get into the ring to stop the count. "Ladies and gentlemen, the winners of this bout, and STIIIIIIILLL World Wrestling Federation Tag Team Champions, Demolition!" came Finkel's official pronouncement as the champs were handled the belts again by Kroll. "The Brain beside himself; I think he may be sobbing," Monsoon noted, "And so mark your calendars, folks; it'll officially be Demolition versus the Legion of Doom for the belts on the next Saturday Night's Main Event; I think that'll be one for the ages, Jesse."

"Well, they just got lucky, that's all," Ventura grumbled, "Had the Brainbusters had a little more time, I think they may have come through. We'll see if they get another crack at whoever has the title after that Saturday Night's Main Event, because personally, I think they deserve another chance."

"But for now, Demolition triumphant as we go back to the replay: really, Jesse, the Brainbusters beat themselves here; if Arn Anderson hadn't bothered running in at this point to make the save, and thus caused this high-speed collision between Tully Blanchard and himself, it's quite possible the Brainbusters may have bounced back for the victory; instead he's out cold right here, and moments later, Tully gets a taste of Demolition's patented closing move. Ax and Smash getting a huge ovation from this Garden crowd as they one again walk out with the gold..."

* * *

><p>"Nice little guy you've got here, Ricky," Hulk cautiously stroked Steamboat's "dragon" in the locker room, his teammates all around him.<p>

"At first I was just going to get a regular komodo dragon," Steamboat admitted, slipping a scrap of meat to the gator, "But the more I thought, the more I thought this would be more intimidating."

"Well I think it worked; looking at the TV as it unfolded, I think Damien actually slithered down Jake's back in fear before you rammed him, so good thinking, Ricky," Bret commended him, "It's about time that fear monger and his ugly little pet had some fear turned back on themselves."

"But you are OK, aren't you, Ricky?" Elizabeth still looked concerned, standing noticeably back from the others (she had made it clear that reptiles, any and all reptiles, were not her cup of tea when Steamboat had brought the alligator back for them to view), "You can breathe OK after what he did to you at the end...?"

"Doctor did clear me, Liz; just said to take it easy for a week or so," Steamboat assured her, "Looks like Tito will be all right as well; he'll need an ice pack from Blassie's blow, but that's about it, so..."

"Shhh," Hulk held up his hand at the sight of the gigantic Yokozuna starting on his way down to the ring on the locker room TV, "I want to keep tabs on this guy. He could be coming my way soon, so I'd better be prepared..."

* * *

><p>"The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Coming down the aisle with his manager, Mr. Fuji, and his American spokesman, James E. Cornette, from Yokohama, Japan, weighing 636 pounds, Yokozuna!" Finkel announced to the booing Garden. "Less than hospitable welcome for Yokozuna here in Boston, and given the way he's brutalized his opponents since arriving here in the WWF, who can blame the fans?" Monsoon opined.<p>

"Well the fans don't know nothing; they conveniently play down Yoko's undefeated streak so far. And need I mention I just love this guy's physique and style?" the Body countered.

"If by style you meaning fighting to kill your opponent, then you don't know style, Jesse. Yokozuna throwing Mr. Fuji's ceremonial salt into the air to bless the ring; the former sumo champion has blazed a trail of destruction through the WWF so far, but he's got his toughest opponent to date-who's coming out now," Monsoon turned to the aisle as the second theme began and a familiar figure emerged, snipping his barber pole-painted shears over his head to the announcement, "His opponent, from San Francisco, California, weighing 271 pounds, Brutus 'the Barber' Beefcake!"

"You call Brutus tough!? He's faced nobody the last few months!" Ventura complained, "I think he deliberately chooses lightweights to face so he can win easy and do his whole hair cutting business. And need I mention he's only here because he's one of Hogan's life partners, and Hogan would do anything to...?"

"Will you get serious!? Brutus Beefcake earned his role here in the WWF through hard work, same as every other wrestler on the roster. Brutus looking good and pumped as the bell rings for this one, and there he goes straight at Yokozuna..."

"And Yoko flattens him to the mat with one hard overhead chop; I love it," the Body snickered, "Didn't I tell you Beefcake was out of his league in this one?"

"That most assuredly remains to be seen. Yokozuna pummeling Brutus hard on the back, followed by a rather hard reverse knife edge to the face. Yokozuna taking him around the waist and a big belly to belly suplex on the Barber. A few sumo stomps for show, I guess, and now Yokozuna off the ropes, I think he's going to drop the leg, and he is...but Brutus out of the way in time! Beefcake back to his feet, now it's his turn to pound Yokozuna on the back..."

"But Yoko's too strong to keep down; look, he's halfway to his feet already..."

"And now a blatant chokehold by Yokozuna on Beefcake's throat as he rises back up...and oh no, picks Beefcake up by the throat, and a big chokeslam! Yokozuna with the cover: one, two...just missed the three. All Yokozuna so far in this one."

"No kidding; Brutus had to have realized when he signed the match he was in for a rough ride here."

Beefcake sent for the ride into the ropes, and a hard chop to the face staggers him. Big overhead roundhouse right, and Yokozuna shoves him down hard to the mat. Now he picks him up again, throws him into the corner, backs up into the opposite corner himself..."

"Here it comes, the Yoko Express, as I like to call it."

"Whatever it's called, here comes Yokozuna with a full head of steam...but no one home! Beefcake out of the way in time, and now he starts smashing Yokozuna's head into the turnbuckle. Mr. Fuji and Jim Cornette shouting for the big guy to shake him off, but Brutus pushing Yokozuna from behind into the ringpost over and over again...and now he jumps up on Yokozuna's back; I think he's trying to lock the sleeper hold on him!"

"But it don't look like he's got it locked on right, Gorilla; Yoko's neck's too big."

"Beefcake squirming around, trying to lock on the sleeper just right; Yokozuna starting to sway...no, he throws himself backwards into the mat to break the hold."

"That's brilliant on Yoko's part; you and McMahon call him a mindless animal, but he's a lot smarter than you give him credit for."

"Brutus looking a bit dazed as Yokozuna back on his feet, grumbling something furiously at the Barber in Japanese. Contemptuous stomp to the chest, and Yokozuna off the ropes again...and misses with the elbow drop! Kick to the chest by Brutus, now he grabs Yokozuna's head and slams it to the mat, and here he goes up to the top rope; what's going to happen now? Brutus Beefcake perched high over Yokozuna...and downs him with a diving chop. Brutus hooks the leg: we have a one, a two...but Yokozuna kicks out. Beefcake looking confident nonetheless, pounding him hard on the back again, and now here he goes into the ropes again...and from outside, Jim Cornette grabs the leg and trips him! Brutus furious, grabs Cornette by the collar and yanks him up to the apron, ignoring referee Gilberto Roman's demands to let Cornette go..."

"Look out, Beefcake's taken his eyes off Yoko, and here comes the big guy from behind..."

"Beefcake preoccupied yelling at Cornette...and a headbutt by Yokozuna from behind! Yokozuna lifting Brutus up over his shoulder...and a tremendous powerslam on the Barber! Yokozuna now dragging him over to the corner..."

"Here it comes; Beefcake's about to taste the Banzai Drop."

"Yokozuna climbing up to the second rope; Brutus trying to get out of the way-too slow; Yokozuna down hard on the chest. Yokozuna with the cover: one, two, that's it."

Yokozuna let out a loud triumphant shout in Japanese at his victory. Glaring coldly at the fallen Beefcake, he strode firmly towards the Barber's corner. "What is he doing now? Uh oh, Yokozuna has Brutus's shears, he's snipping them roughly; I don't like the looks of this..." Monsoon gulped nervously.

"I do, Gorilla, and it's only fair; Beefcake cuts everyone else's hair when he wins, so Yoko's justified to do the same to him now," Ventura stated firmly, "And here he comes to do it..."

"Yokozuna with the shears, here he comes...WHOOOOOA, he tried to slice Brutus's whole head off there!" Monsoon gasped as Yokozuna tried to snip the shears dangerously close to Beefcake's throat, thwarted only when a wide-eyed Beefcake rolled out of the way at the last moment, "I can understand trying to cut the hair, but he tried to kill Brutus there!"

"Well, I can't condone going that far, Gorilla, but the fact is, Yoko won, and should be free to celebrate any way he chooses."

"Yokozuna smashing the shears against the ringpost, basically destroying them..."

"And once again, that's justice for all the garbage Brutus pulled with them over the years. And before you rip me up for saying that, Gorilla, you always celebrate whenever Rick Martel's Arrogance atomizer gets smashed like this; this is no different than that."

"I still can't believe Yokozuna tried to cut Brutus the Barber's head off there; that was not the move of a true athlete. Yokozuna now tossing the wrecked shears aside, taking the Japanese flag from Mr. Fuji and waving it high overhead; a victory for him nonetheless in this encounter..."

"And a nice pure victory too, one you have no right to complain about, Monsoon. And all I have to say is, look out, Hogan; this man's coming after you, and you can't duck him forever. And when you are in the ring with him, even all your Pukesters can't save you from his wrath."

"Indeed such an encounter would seem tilted in Yokozuna's favor, but as history has shown so far, never count the Hulkster out in the clutch."

"Oh face the facts, Gorilla; the only way Hogan could ever beat Yoko is if he ran into the ring after a match when Yoko was good and tired out, challenged him to a match on the spot, and caught him by surprise and beat him in twenty seconds. And even _he_ doesn't have audacity to pull that on Yoko."

"Needless to say, Yokozuna very much a force to be reckoned with here in the WWF. Our final match before the main event is coming up next..."

* * *

><p>"Mr. Boss Man, it's time to get ready; Mr. Rude's heading down to the ring now," a page stuck his head in the locker room door.<p>

"Gotcha, I'm ready," a determined look crossed the former prison guard's face as he gathered up his nightstick and handcuffs, "I'm going to wipe that arrogant smile off his arrogant face, and them I'm dragging him back down to Georgia and have him kiss my momma's feet in repentance for all the terrible things he said about her!"

"Save some for me too, Boss Man; I ain't forgotten the interview he gave two weeks ago where he said he'd give anything to give Elizabeth a Rude Awakening she'd never forget, and the Macho Man doesn't forget innuendo like that, oooh yeah!" Savage gave his colleague a thumbs-up as the Boss Man charged full-steam out of the locker room. "Now there's a man who still values family, yeah," he commented.

"Well, if we don't value our families, especially our mothers, what is there to value?" Andre pointed out, "Nice little gator," he reached down to pet the alligator, who abruptly snapped at his finger. "Hmm, frisky one too; I think I'll pass and just watch the match," the Giant hastily retreated back to the TV set as Finkel's voice rose up on it again...

* * *

><p>"The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Coming down the aisle, escorted by his manager, Bobby 'the Brain' Heenan, from Robbinsdale, Minnesota, weighing 251 pounds, here is 'Ravishing' Rick Rude!"<p>

"A comparison in contrasts here; Rick Rude looking confident and ready, and in front of him, the Brain still looking heartbroken over missing out on tag team gold," Monsoon observed from the broadcast position.

"Heenan'll bounce back; he'll get another shot at the gold, and maybe at even bigger gold," Ventura predicted, "And since Rick Rude genuinely cares for his manager, perhaps he'll try and cheer him up by letting _him_ do the Rude Awakening after the match with some lucky woman here at ringside."

"Did you just say what I thought you did, Jesse? That some woman would actually _want_ to line up to kiss Bobby Heenan?" Monsoon looked openly sick at the very thought.

"Hey Heenan's more popular that you realize, and...but first things first, and here we go with Rude's other favorite tradition."

In the ring, Rude picked up the nearest microphone. "Cut the music," he demanded out loud, prompting it to stop. The Ravishing One scanned the crowd. "What I would like to have right now," he said arrogantly, "is for all you fat, ugly, Boston beanheads to try and control yourselves why I take my robe off and show the ladies what a real sexy body looks like. Hit the music."

"Do we really have to put up with this?" Monsoon sighed in frustration as the music kicked in again.

"Hey, if I have to put up Hogan ripping his shirt every time too, you have to put up with this, Gorilla, just like you'll have to put up with Volkoff singing the Soviet anthem next in the main event whether you like it or not-and there it is, the near-perfect body of the Sexiest Man Alive, winner of the Jesse the Body Award at the Slammies, I may add," Ventura stood up and openly applauded Rude's muscular gyrations now that his robe was in fact off-although he was only one in the building to do so.

"Will you stop!?" a frustrated Monsoon yanked him back into his seat, "Rick Rude's just a little too over the top with this if you ask me..."

"Well I didn't, so there."

"But the long arm of the law is coming his way right now," Monsoon proclaimed as the Boss Man's theme interrupted Rude's over the loudspeakers. "And his opponent, from Cobb County, Georgia, weighing 305 pounds, here is the Big Boss Man!" Finkel had barely finished his announcement before the Boss Man, a look of cold fury on his face, charged like an enraged bull up the aisle and into the ring, where he jumped on top of Rude and started pummeling him before the bell had finished ringing. "Boss Man out to defend his mother's honor, and he's off to a big start here," Monsoon proclaimed.

"Yeah, right, he sucker-jumped him; that's not honorable, Gorilla."

"Nor is this, for that matter; Heenan yanking the Boss Man off his man and tossing him through the ropes-but no, Boss Man caught the top rope, and now he climbs back in and grabs Heenan from behind and tosses HIM out!" Monsoon roared in undisguised delight, "And now-now Rude grabs him and, whoa, big suplex there, and a beauty! Rude with a stomp to the Boss Man's chest, and now he drops the elbow."

"Great resiliency by Rick Rude; he survived the Boss Man's initial rush, and now he's going to give the not-so-slick hick everything in his arsenal."

"Rude with a cover-and Boss Man's foot's on the ropes. Rude nonplussed, flips him into the corner, rushes him-missed him by a few seconds. Boss Man shoves him into the opposing corner-and he misses too. Rude smashes his face into the turnbuckle-and drags him over to the next turnbuckle and smashes it into that one-and then the next one, and finally the last one. And to celebrate the grand slam, so to speak, some more hip flexing to the ladies; gimme a break!"

"Well why not; they love him, Gorilla."

"Oh really!? Rude whips the Boss Man into the ropes; sends him down with a kick to the face. More hip flexing before he stomps on him. Now he's going up to the top rope; what's going to happen now? Rude goes flying-wham, right down on top of the Boss Man! Hooks the leg...and only gets two. Now he's picking him up for a piledriver...or at least he's trying to; Boss Man fighting it. Rude straining, trying to get him up, and it looks like...and the Boss Man reverses and tosses him over his head!" he exclaimed, "And he's...no, Rude brings him down again with a sunset flip! One, two...no, Boss Man escapes."

"Well what do you expect, Gorilla; the ref was way out of position there; if he'd been anywhere close to where he should have been, this match would have been over."

"Rude looking a little frustrated now that he hasn't been able to put the Boss Man away yet despite his best efforts so far. Whips him into the ropes and flattens him with an elbow to the face..."

"If I were Rude, I wouldn't make the same mistake Jake the Snake did earlier with Steamboat; I would go for the Rude Awakening before the Boss Man gets any momentum going here."

"Boss Man not showing much offense so far. Now he's picked up and slammed down feet first; pain visible on his face as he goes down again. Rude flexing the muscles confidently, he looks like he's ready to try and turn out the lights. Now a backbreaker, and a beauty. Another cover: one...quick kickout by the Boss Man. Rude definitely frustrated now as he grabs the-whoa, what a suplex! Rude now going up to the top rope again, I think he's going to go for another...but take a look at this: Boss Man springs right up, and he catches him right up there! Boss Man holding Rick Rude over his head by the legs, this crowd going crazy...there's a spinebuster! A cover: one, two...scissor kick to the head by Rude to save himself. But the Boss Man now has the advantage as he hauls the Ravishing One up; hard slap to the face, and then another one."

"Those looks like punches more than slaps, Gorilla, and it looked to me like he was using a closed fist."

"Not from where I can see. Boss Man drops down, topples Rude with a leg sweep, now up again, stomping on the groin area; he looks like a man possessed."

"He is; he's too caught up about avenging dear, sweet Momma Boss Man, who we all know is the very same fat ugly cow Rude said she was, so now this is going to degenerate into him torturing poor Rude if the ref doesn't keep a close eye on this."

"Boss Man stomping on the leg; Rude grimacing in pain while Heenan shouts at him to get up; the Brain almost looking downright scared at the moment, and why not; he may be shut out on this card if Rude loses. Slingshot into the ropes by the Boss Man, and Rude staggers backwards clutching his forehead-and down he goes! Boss Man off the ropes; big splash! Hooks the leg...and only gets two. Boss Man undeterred, flipping Rude into the corner...no, Rude reverses him...the Boss Man tries to turn it around...and look at that, Rude flings him straight into the referee, who goes down hard!"

"That was the Boss Man's fault; he did that on purpose to get the ref out of the way so he could torture Rude unmolested."

"Will you be serious; he tried to get out of the way before they collided! Boss Man trying to help referee John Bonello up, but Rude grabs him from behind, snap suplex over the shoulder; now he goes up and down hard on his chest. Rick Rude picks the Boss Man up, holds him high, and slams him down hard to the mat. Another cover...one, two, three. four, five...the referee is still out cold."

"They should still ring the bell, Gorilla; Rude won this match fair and square."

"Rude pounding the mat in frustration, feeling he's won as well. Now going over to the ref, shaking Bonello hard, trying to get him up-and the Boss Man grabs him from behind and pulls him into a small package...but again, there's no one to count! Another scissor kick by Rude breaks the hold, and now a hard blow by the Ravishing One to the Boss Man's face, and that, Jesse, was definitely a closed fist there."

"Oh no, you must be seeing things, Gorilla."

"No way, because Rude unloads with another one, and another. Referee starting to come to a little bit, Heenan shaking him, trying to get him up. Rick Rude pounding away at the Big Boss Man, who starts trading them back to him! Both men slugging it out in the middle of the ring, turning this into a boxing match of sorts. Rude off the ropes, trying a flying tackle-but it backfires and he flies right past him! Boss Man grabs him on the rebound, and here it comes, the patented Boss Man Slam! Rude down hard to the mat; another cover..."

"Hey Boss Man, your mother is a big, dumb, stinking ape!" came Heenan's bellow from the apron. Immediately, the Boss Man shot up and charged over, grabbing the Brain by the collar and hoisting him up in the air to a huge applause. "Smart move by Heenan to save his man, but it may just have backfired on him," Ventura grimaced at the Brain's dilemma.

"Wait a minute, it looks like Bobby Heenan has the Boss Man's nightstick behind his back; now he's tossing it to Rick Rude in the ring; Boss Man didn't see it. Rude has the nightstick, here he comes...bashes the Boss Man hard across the back of the head, and down he goes! Cover by Rude...but still no referee! Heenan dragging Bonello over; he's still not completely back to normal yet, though."

"Count, you fool, count; Rude should have won this match thirty seconds ago!" Ventura berated the man.

"Referee finally in position, and we have a one, a two, and a...Boss Man kicks out again!"

"This is terrible; this match should have been over a long time ago! If Rick Rude loses this match, he ought to file a formal protest to Jack Tunney to have it granted to him either way!"

"And Rude now on the receiving end of hard blows from the Boss Man, who looks mad beyond words!" Monsoon exclaimed, "Boss Man rising to his feet, clutching the back of his head, whips Rude into the ropes with his free arm, and kicks...no, Rude grabs the leg and yanks it around-and now look at this, he quickly grabs the Boss Man's head over his shoulder, and-YEEEEOOOOUUUCCCCHH, there it goes, the Rude Awakening!" he grimaced as Rude slammed the Boss Man down the mat hard, "The cover: one, two, three, forget about it."

The bell rang. "Here is your winner, 'Ravishing' Rick Rude!" came the official announcement. Rude cockily swayed his hips in the middle of the ring. "Now what's he doing?" Monsoon frowned, "Rude going to-would you look at that, pulling off the tights to reveal a new set underneath, and that looks very much like the Boss Man's mother emblazoned on the back!"

"Nice thinking there by Rude; now he can drive the message home to the Boss Man that he won even more clearly."

"I find this disgusting-and look at this, Rude up on the ropes, a back jump onto top of the Boss Man...!"

"I like it; he drove Momma's face right into her son's face; that'll teach him a lesson."

"Rick Rude still swaying his hips as he follows the Brain out of the ring. And now, ladies and gentlemen, it's just about time for the moment you've all been waiting for: the big steel cage main event. We'll take a fifteen minute break so our ring crew can set the cage up, and when we come back, it'll be the Mega Powers against the Mega Mercenaries, so don't go away...!"


	12. Chapter 12

"How's it looking so far, Slick?" Don Vincenelli asked through the intercom next to his beach chair.

"A near-record haul, Brother Vincelli, although our guys have lost pretty badly," Slick admitted.

"Well, not much we can do about that on our end, Slick. Lock in all bets for the main event now," the don ordered him. "Hopefully a good showing here by the Sheik and Volkoff will make up for a lackluster day," he confided in his dates.

"It's hard to believe you'd be betting against the American wrestlers, especially the world champion," one of them look confused.

"Hey sweetheart, business is business, and if I think the others guys can turn a bigger profit, I buy them and have them make me dough, right Patrizio?" Vincenelli asked his bodyguard, who merely grunted softly. "See, he agrees."

"You're not going to kill Bobby Heenan for missing his title shots are you?" the other woman asked him.

"No, I decided not to; as I told you girls earlier, he makes me laugh too much to hate him for too long. Still, I think if I threaten him with replacing him with Slick as a manager, he might be convinced to work harder next time," the don told her.

"Does Mr. Slick know how to manage?" the woman had to ask.

"Sure does," Stefano cut in, "He's done some work down in the Texas territory, but all in all he was a nobody before we found him and plucked him out of obscurity to work for us. He's the perfect fill-in if we need to replace someone."

"Which hopefully will never be Blassie," Don Vincenelli turned back to the TV screen, where the steel cage was just about set up around the ring...

* * *

><p>"Time, guys," Blassie bustled through the locker room door and announced to the Sheik and Volkoff, who immediately stopped jabbing at the punching bags in the corner, "Are you ready to take Hogan and Macho down?"<p>

"Ready as we'll ever be," both Mega Mercenaries declared in unison.

"All right then," he leaned into his men's faces, "What are you two?"

"We are two powerful tanks of destruction," the Sheik declared.

"What are you going to be in that ring?"

"Utterly and completely unstoppable."

"What are you fighting for?"

"We are fighting for the rights of the proletariat in the international class struggle against the oppressive tyranny of the bourgeoisie," Volkoff snapped to attention and rambled out Communist Party philosophy without a single pause.

"NO!" Blassie whacked the Russian hard on the shoulder with his cane, "I hate it when you spit out that stupid preprogrammed Commie crap!"

"Sorry, Comrade Blassie, but we are," Volkoff rationalized, rubbing his shoulder.

"Ah, never mind. Here's your flags," Blassie picked up the Iranian and Soviet flags laying in the corner and handed them to his men, "Now let's go out there and show the world that I'm the best manager in wrestling, without any dispute."

He shoved open the locker room door and led them out into the hall...bumping into a dark-haired woman in a long dress passing by at that moment. "Hey, watch where you're...!" he started to shout, but then realized the woman wasn't a woman. "Bobby, what in God's name are you doing?" he demanded to the disguised Heenan.

"I've got to find a place to hide, Freddie," Heenan whimpered behind the heavy amount of makeup and mascara he'd smeared all over his face, "Vincenelli's going to kill me for losing the Intercontinental and tag belts, I just know it! He's probably got assassins covering every exit in the Garden; I'm a dead man if I don't leave in disguise!"

"Pull yourself together, man!" Blassie slapped him twice across the face, "He's probably ticked, but you're too valuable an asset for him to kill right now; after thirty years of dealing with the Vincenelli family, I know exactly how they think."

"But what if you're wrong, Freddie; what if this is the one time he goes off his rocker?" Heenan wasn't placated, "I can't take the chance that...!"

"Excuse me, Mr. Blassie, Miss," a janitor came up, "They're looking for Bobby 'the Brain' Heenan in one of the back offices; have either of you seen him?"

"Bobby Hee-Bobby Heenan?" the Brain stopped mid-sentence and pulled out a high-pitched feminine voice, "Say, is he sort of round with blondish hair?"

"Yep," the janitor nodded.

"And does he call everyone around himself humanoids?"

"Yep."

"And is he one of the best managers in all of professional wrestling, managing such great talent as Hercules Hernandez and King Kong Bundy?"

"Yep."

"Nope, never heard of him."

"Oh," the janitor shook his head and ambled off. "See, Freddie, there's probably a whole boatload of hit men not named Bret Hart in that office right now, waiting to fill me full of lead!" Heenan whimpered, "I've got to get out of here, quick, and 'Roberta' here," he gestured at his getup, "Is the best way to do it."

"Then please go; you're embarrassing me just standing around me like this!" Blassie gave the Brain a hard shove, "And try not to come out in public like this again!"

Heenan eagerly bustled off, swinging around the purse he was carrying nervously. "Don't ever let me catch either of you dressed like that," Blassie warned the Mega Mercenaries, "My career is too sensitive to be embarrassed like that."

"Not to worry, Freddie; no way we'd ever..." the Sheik started to insist.

"Aha, trying to steal our spotlight, are they?" Blassie was distracted by the sight of the Mega Powers taking their place by Okerlund at the interview position. "...time is finally here," the interviewer was beginning with them, "Hulk Hogan and Randy Savage, no doubt you have been carrying the memory of the Mega Mercenaries' terrible attack on you for all these weeks; how does it feel to finally be stepping into the ring with them?"

"Well you know something, Mean Gene, the Iron Sheik and Nikolai Volkoff may think they represent the strongest and greatest countries in the world, and that that gives them the right to do whatever they want to whomever they want, but they'll never understand that these colors never run," Hulk stretched out one of the two American flags he was holding, "The red, white, and blue stand for freedom, and nothing the Iron Sheik and Nikolai Volkoff can ever do will change that."

"Absolutely, yeah," Savage agreed, again stretching out his American flag robe and spinning in a circle, "The power of America runs through the heart and minds of every man, woman and child in that arena, and the zillions and zillions of people all around the world watching Summer Slam tonight, and they're all going to see how weak the Sheik and Volkoff really are when they dare to step into the Danger Zone with the Mega Powers, oooooooh yeah!"

"That's a big, fat lie, you Yankee Doodle Dork!" an incensed Sheik stormed over and glared right in Savage's face, "Iran and Russia, Number One; U.S.A. and Mega Powers, bah, phooey!"

He once again spit at Savage's feet. "That ain't cool, brother!" Hulk got in the Sheik's face, "Just for that, you and Volkoff are going to get a smackdown of epic proportions in the ring right now!"

"You capitalist dogs couldn't smack down a fly!" Volkoff gave the champ a shove, "You want to go now, we'll go now, before stepping into ring!"

"With pleasure, yeah!" Savage stepped forward, flexing his muscles. "Randy, Randy, please, it's OK!" Elizabeth desperately got between the two teams, "Wait until we're in the ring!"

"Aw, the poor little skirt can't stomach a little fight, can she?" Blassie mocked her.

"I just don't want to see anyone get hurt," she admitted, "Especially before the match."

"Well that proves you don't have the stomach to be in professional wrestling, sister," he all but spat at her. "And for all you pencil-neck geeks out there watching," he glared into the camera, "Don't you ever forget, _I_ am the greatest manager in all of professional wrestling, not Loony Liz here, and tonight, my boys the Mega Mercenaries will prove it beyond any doubt by giving the so-called champ and his life partner here the most brutal beating in the history of wrestling!"

"Now wait a minute, Freddie Blassie, let me point out that the Mega Powers have vowed to fight for our country in there tonight," Okerlund pointed out to him, "Are you seriously saying you would rather see America embarrassed than lose this match?"

"Contrary to what they like to say, Okerlund you pinhead, winning IS everything," the Classy One declared, "And if Hogan and the Macho Moron are the best our country has to offer, then frankly, maybe I ought to root for the Commies in everything."

"You tell him, Comrade Blassie," Volkoff gave his manager an enthusiastic pat on the back that almost bowled Blassie over. "A little softer, please!" Blassie reprimanded him. "Let's go, boys, and leave these three losers to try and salvage their images," he told his men, making a point to push Elizabeth aside as he led the Sheik and Volkoff towards the curtain to the ring. "He's a dead man, yeah," Savage growled, "Nobody touches the manager of the Mega Powers like that and lives to tell about it, ooh yeah!"

"But we still have to play by the rules, Macho; the world needs to see Americans believe in fair play above all else," Hulk vowed.

"Yes, yes," Elizabeth nodded, shaking off the stunned reaction to Blassie's roughness, "Just remember, you two," she pulled the both of them close, "Speed is the key; the Sheik and Volkoff are powerhouses, but they're all muscle and no agility; if we get them to exert themselves long enough, we will be unstoppable."

"You said it. Let's go get them," Hulk emphatically stomped after the Mega Mercenaries. "All right, Gorilla and Jesse, no love lost between both teams, and I suspect we may be in for the fight of the night," Okerlund summed everything up for the commentators, "Back to you for the call."

Back in the arena, the bell rang as Finkel stepped into the middle of the now constructed steel cage enclosing the ring. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is now time for the main event of Summer Slam!" he declared to loud cheers, "It will be contested inside of this steel cage, and the winning team will be the one that will be the first to get both team members out of the cage. And now, the participants: first, coming down the aisle, accompanied by their manger, 'Classy' Freddie Blassie, at a total combined weight of 571 pounds, from Tehran, Iran, the Iron Sheik, and from Moscow in the Soviet Union, Nikolai Volkoff; together they are the Mega Mercenaries!"

"Ah, shut up, you pencil-neck geeks!" Blassie shouted contemptuously at the people booing him and his team along the aisle, "Why don't you go home and find real jobs!?" He jammed both hands over his ears to block out the jeers as he led the Sheik and Volkoff into the ring, where he stepped off to the side and let them wave their countries' flags for a few seconds, then bent down and picked up a microphone. "OK, you pencil-neck geeks, you know what time it is," he barked at the still heavily booing crowd, "On your feet and show some respect while Nikolai sings the Soviet National Anthem. Hit it, Nikolai."

He exchanged the microphone with Volkoff for the Soviet flag, then snapped to attention and placed his hand over his heart and started singing along with Volkoff, who noticeably cranked up his voice to be heard over the booing. "_Someday, they'll learn not to mock me like this_," he thought confidently to himself.

Backstage behind the curtain, Savage jammed his hands over his ears in agony. "I can't stand it, I can't stand it!" he bellowed furiously, "Somebody needs to shut him up, yeah!"

"It's OK, Randy, really it is," Elizabeth tried to console him, putting a hand on his shoulder, "He does have the right to sing it..."

"But with what they're doin' in Afghanistan and all over the world, he's got a lot of nerve trotting out that anthem of hate and oppression here!" Savage wasn't placated, "He ought to be taught a lesson for that!"

"And we're going to be the ones to do it, Randy. Here you go," Hulk handed his partner one of the American flags, then hefted the other one high. "And one for the First Lady too," he handed Elizabeth a smaller handheld one. "Tell them to hit the theme, we're going in," he declared to several WWF officials standing nearby, grabbing a cordless microphone off the nearest table, "Elizabeth, after you."

Elizabeth took a deep breath and walked through the curtain at the precise moment Hulk's theme roared to life over the loudspeakers, cutting Volkoff off mid-song. "Their opponents," even Finkel looked relieved to be done with the Soviet anthem, "led to the ring by the First Lady of Wrestling, Elizabeth, at a total combined weight of 542 pounds, from Sarasota, Florida, 'Macho Man' Randy Savage, and from Venice Beach, California, the World Wrestling Federation World Heavyweight Champion, Hulk Hogan; they are the Mega Powers!"

"Will you show some respect for Nikolai, Hogan!?" Blassie roared over his microphone at the champion. Volkoff indeed tried to continue singing the Soviet anthem, even though the cheering of the fans for the Mega Powers completely drowned him out. And Hulk realized he could help with that as well. "I feel strong about right and wrong," he started singing along with his own theme into his microphone, waving his flag proudly, "And I don't take trouble for very long. I've got something deep inside of me; courage is the thing that keeps us free! Come on everyone!"

"I am a real American," the Garden crowd did shout seemingly as one, drowning Volkoff out as he all but screamed the words to the Soviet anthem into his own microphone, "fight for the rights of every man. I am a real American; fight for what's right; fight for your life..."

"Forget it, Nikolai, forget it," Blassie disgustedly snatched the microphone off the Russian, followed by both Mega Mercenaries' flags. "Get set, though," he instructed them, handing the flags and microphone through the cage door, then returning for Volkoff's cap and jacket and the Sheik's robe and headdress. He stood in the corner and watched with a deep frown as the Mega Powers entered the cage, climbed up to the top rope and waved the American flags high, while Elizabeth did the same on a less grand scale at the cage door with her handheld one. "On your marks," he growled to the Sheik and Volkoff, who shifted into three point stances, "Get set," he waited until Hulk and Savage had climbed down and were handing their flags out the door as well, then barked, "Get them!"

In a flash, the Sheik and Volkoff charged the Mega Powers and knocked them flat on the ground, then started pummeling them hard. "Look at this; a sneak attack by the Mega Mercenaries right before the match even started!" Monsoon was irate.

"Hey, give them credit, Gorilla, they came prepared," Ventura rocked back in his seat, smiling.

"Iron Sheik and Nikolai Volkoff pounding the Mega Powers silly as the bell rings; Blassie looks quite pleased with himself as he exits the cage; a few more words towards Elizabeth outside, likely just as derogatory as his past comments towards her. Back inside, Volkoff ripping off the Hulkster's shirt and choking him out with it; come on!"

"Well at least we're spared the spectacle of Hogan tearing it for the crowd, so I'd say I came out better than you with this one," Ventura all but laughed.

"Will you stop!? Iron Sheik trying to Camel Clutch the Macho Man already; Savage in pain as he tries to crawl to the corner, but of course the usual rules about the ropes don't apply in a steel cage match. Volkoff off the Hukster; now he yanks off the WWF World Heavyweight Championship belt and hoists it high; does that idiot think he's won it!?"

"Well give him credit, Gorilla, he did just defeat Hogan in battle."

"If you call a jump from behind a battle. Volkoff mocking the world's champion, putting his hand to his ear to soak up the boos; gimme a break! Referee Dave Hebner trying to pull the belt away from Volkoff, but the big Russian won't give it up without a...hang on, Hulk back to his feet, and he downs Volkoff with an ax handle to the back of the head! And now he rushes over and bashes the Sheik in the same area, knocking him off the Macho Man!"

"Oh yeah, Gorilla, talking about sneak attacks from behind...!"

"Dave Hebner trying to regain some semblance of order here, trying to get just two men in the ring, and it looks like he's achieving that, as we're down to just the Hulkster and the Iron Sheik to start this match. A reminder to you the viewers, regular tag team rules do apply in this one, but they won't be trying for a pinfall, rather to get both guys out of the steel cage around them, and they can't simply go out in unison; wrestling principles must be adhered to. Hulkster now delivering some hard blows to the Sheik's back; whips him into the ropes, and a hard clothesline takes the Iranian strongman down. Now a knee drop by the world champion into the Sheik's chest. followed by an elbow drop. Across the ring and a tag to Savage, who goes up to the top rope right away; is he going for that devastating elbow drop immediately?"

"If he does, my thought is he's planning on putting the Iron Sheik out of commission, and I'm wondering what Jack Tunney's guidelines on this match are if one man gets incapacitated?"

"We'll have to check the rulebook on that when we have a break in the action; right now, Savage going airborne, and a hard elbow into the Sheik's chest! He hooks the leg and...and remembers he's not going for the cover, gets up-and a sucker-punch to the chest by the Sheik..."

"Sure, when _he_ does it, it's a sucker-punch, and when Hogan or one of his cronies does it, it's perfectly legal, is that it!?"

"Iron Sheik with a tag to Volkoff; the two of them flip Savage into the ropes and clothesline him, and they both start pounding on his back; get the Sheik out of there, ref!"

"The Sheik knows the five second rule; see, he's climbing out right now."

"That was a LOT longer than five seconds that he was in there, Jesse. Nikolai Volkoff with several blows to Savage's back, now off the ropes, and a dropkick downs the Macho Man. Volkoff glancing around the cage-and he's going to try to get out. Freddie Blassie encouraging the big Russian on as he tries to climb up and out, but I think he's going too slowly there, and here comes Savage. Macho Man grabs Volkoff around the waist, yanking for all it's worth-and manages to pull him down. Savage whips Volkoff into the corner, and a running splash into him flattens him. Savage repeats the maneuver in the near corner, and another splash. Volkoff staggering around in a daze, trying to find his corner for a tag. Savage, meanwhile, tags Hogan, who rushes in and drops an elbow on Volkoff from behind. Hulkster drags the big Russian to the turnbuckle, and here goes the head into the top one...four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Volkoff collapses to the mat in a daze. And Hogan starting up out of the cage; he's going to try to get out next."

"But look, here comes Blassie, and you can bet he won't let his backstabbing former pupil get out without a fight."

"Hulk trying to avoid the Classy One, but Blassie climbing up the side of the cage and coming over to him. Hulk almost near the top..."

"Oh no you don't, Hogan!" Blassie's yell could be heard all the way to the top rows of the Garden. Hulk's former manager slugged him hard in the face, making him lose his grip and topple back into the ring. Blassie laughed in victory all the way back down to the floor. "Hey, sister," he called mockingly to a concerned Elizabeth on the other side of the ring, "Now you know why I'm the best; _I'm_ willing to actually help them when they need it!"

"Blatant interference there by Freddie Blassie to prevent a Mega Powers advantage, and now a tag to the Iron Sheik in the ring," Monsoon continued with the commentary, "Sheik picks Hulk up over his head; what a backbreaker there! Iron Sheik jumps hard on his chest; did he just spit on him there?"

"So what if he did; Hogan deserves it either way."

"Will you stop!? Gutwrench suplex now, and the Sheik is firmly in control. Sheik heads for the side, and now he's climbing out. Hogan crawling along the floor, trying to catch up to him, but I'm not sure if he can..."

"And if he can't, I just can't see Elizabeth climbing up the side of the cage to stop the Sheik like Blassie did."

"Same here-but the Hulk now with more urgency as he reaches the side of the cage, and he's catching up. Iron Sheik nearing the top, but the champ now right on his heels-look at this, Volkoff running over to the other side and trying to climb out as well behind Dave Hebner's back; that's specifically against the rules! You must be the legal man to attempt to climb out!"

"Well maybe Jack Tunney's office didn't make that clear enough to Volkoff, so you can't blame him for trying anyway."

"It was most certainly made clear, Jesse; you and I were at that rule meeting too! But wait, Macho Man running over to try and cut him off, he's climbing up after Volkoff...!"

"Volkoff and the Sheik are almost to the top; it looks like too little too late for the Mega Powers..."

"No it's not; both Hogan and Savage catch the Mega Mercenaries right on the top of the cage! And it looks like they're...yes they are...!"

"Oh no!" Volkoff groaned on the cage as Savage hooked his arms around his chest and crouched against the bars.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHH YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHH!" the Macho Man roared in his ear. He nodded at Hulk, who had cinched a squirming Sheik into the same position, and then...

"DID YOU SEE THAT! A DOUBLE SUPLEX BY THE MEGA POWERS OFF THE TOP OF THE CAGE!" Monsoon roared at the top of his lungs over the crowd, which was going absolutely crazy at the sight of the Mega Mercenaries being suplexed to the mat from thirty feet in the air, "And the Sheik and Volkoff look completely out of it!"

"Yeah, but look, the Mega Powers did a number on themselves too; they're flat on the mat as well," Ventura pointed, "Dave Hebner better get control of this match again and get the illegal men back out of the ring."

"All four men crawling around on the floor; I don't think they know where they quite are. A deep look of concern on Elizabeth's face outside as she tries to encourage the Mega Powers to get up; Blassie doing the same thing for his men, only more gratingly. Finally, the Hulkster getting up slowly, and I think he's-yes, he's trying to climb out again..."

"Is he the legal man, Gorilla? I lost track after those big suplexes."

"He most certainly is, and he's close to the top again, but look out, Blassie climbing up again. Hogan going sideways trying to avoid the Classy One, he's reaching for the top again, his fingers grabbing on to the top bar..."

But it was also that moment that Blassie reaching the top of the cage as well. With loud growls, he smacked Hulk's fingers with his cane as hard as he could until Hulk let go with a groan of pain and plummeted back down to the mat. "More interference by Blassie, and the Sheik and Volkoff pounding on the champion again," Monsoon groaned, "Come on, Mr. Hebner, they shouldn't be able to double team him like that!"

"Well you can't blame Hebner, he's over trying to keep Savage in line."

"Savage ran in to try and break up the double team; who can blame him? Savage nonetheless getting back out, and Dave Hebner finally seeing the double team and ordering one of the Mega Mercenaries out. Sheik leaves, and Volkoff now flinging the Hulkster into the corner hard and...wait, I don't think he's legal; he never tagged the Iron Sheik to get back in either before or after the suplex!"

"Yes he did, it was while they were rolling around on the canvas."

"No he didn't; I was watching the whole time there! Nikolai Volkoff illegally in the ring, now blatantly choking out the Hulkster in the corner; Elizabeth yelling to the ref to break it up..."

"Well maybe Blassie's right; if she can't handle the violence of the sport, she should leave the ringside area."

"WILL YOU STOP! Neckbreaker by Volkoff takes the champ down, and the big Russian waving for them to open the door. Volkoff walking confidently towards it-and Hulk grabs the ankle and brings him down! Volkoff straining for the door, he's halfway through it, but the champ pulling him back in-now look at this, Blassie around to the door, grabs Volkoff's hand and tries to pull him out!"

"Good thinking there by Freddie; he's always ready to help his men when they need it."

"Savage running along the ropes, Hulk sees him, and they tag; Savage up to the top rope in a flash-and down on Volkoff's back! Now he's dragging Nikolai back into the ring; Blassie yanking for all it's worth, but he's being pulled in-and Hogan nails him in the face, sending him rolling down the stairs and out!"

"What a cheap shot by Hogan! That, kids, is what Hulkamania's REALLY all about; cheap shots and blatant cheating!"

"No one's listening to you, Jesse, because they know how wrong you are. Savage with an elbow to Volkoff's face; now he gives that familiar finger twirl; let's see what's going to happen next. Savage rushes to the far side of the-WHOA, smashes Volkoff's head into the side of the cage! Volkoff topples down; I think that knocked him cold!"

"That should be an automatic disqualification for Macho; that was completely uncalled for!"

"Perfectly legal under the rules Jack Tunney laid out at the match meeting. Savage now going up to the top rope-no, wait, he's going even higher; is he going to try and climb out?"

"If so, Blassie better get on his horse and stop him; he's just about out of there..."

"Savage, reaches the top, and he stands up-I think he's going for the mother of all elbow drops!" Monsoon rose to his feet again, along with half of the wildly cheering crowd, "Macho Man, thirty feet in the air, he leaps-YES, elbow hard into Volkoff's chest! This place is going bananas!"

"Well, I will give Macho some credit there, for original thinking..."

"Savage waving for the door, he's crawling towards it; Shiek's clear on the other side of the ring, he's running, but I don't think he'll make it in time. Savage reaches the door, he's almost out, but here comes Blassie again to the door-and Blassie slams the door hard on his head!" he grumbled in disgust, "Macho Man almost out of there, and Blassie interferes yet again to stop him. Elizabeth protesting Blassie's move, but it's too late now, and the Sheik is tagged in on the far side of the ring. Iron Sheik runs over and jumps on Savage's back, and then again and again. Savage reaches out to tag the Hulkster, but he's too far away. Sheik whips him into the ropes, and a big kick to the chest from one of those pointed-toed boots that are very controversial..."

"To you and McMahon, but I do believe the Sheik's attire has been formally cleared by Jack Tunney's office."

"Perhaps, but there's no question those boots could cause major damage if misused-and the Sheik now tying Savage up in the ropes and kicking him repeatedly with the boots in the chest-and a low blow there! Sheik spits on him again, bounces off the ropes and splashes straight into the Macho Man; that has to hurt. Iron Sheik walks causally over to the corner and tags Volkoff-who immediately starts climbing out. And with Savage tied up in the ropes, there's no one to stop him."

"Unless Elizabeth wants to take the risk, but wearing high heels like those she has on, I doubt she'd have much traction."

"Elizabeth watching in distress as Volkoff reaches the top unchallenged, and climbs down the outside-and he's down on the ground. Chalk one up to the Mega Mercenaries, and if Savage stays like that, the Sheik can probably just walk out himself-but wait, Hogan coming along the outside of the ring as the Sheik goes for another splash off the ropes, trying to free his partner...and he does. Savage ducks-and the Sheik smashes into the side of the cage at thirty miles an hour!" Monsoon roared in approval, along with most of the arena.

"That was a mistake, I'll grant that; he should have left immediately rather than try to hurt Macho even more."

"And now Hulk reaching out for a tag-and gets it. Hogan in, picks up the Sheik and slams him! Off the ropes, and there's the leg drop into the Iranian's chest! Hogan slugging the Sheik hard-but a rake of the eyes by the Sheik breaks that off. Iron Sheik back to his feet, arm drag on the Hulkster takes him down. Volkoff shouting encouragement to his partner from outside the ring, but nothing more he can do from there. Iron Sheik goes airborne, down on the champ's chest. Now he's walking confidently towards the door, which opens wide for him-but Hulk makes the tag, and in comes Savage like a lion...and he tackles the Sheik mere feet from the door! Both men rolling around, slugging at each other-now the Sheik starts to get somewhat away, crawling towards the door, he's got the head and arms out-and Blassie grabs the hand again, give me a break! Now Volkoff grabs his partner's other arm; they're both trying to pull him out. Savage yanking hard, yanking hard-and I think he's starting to win the battle. Hogan back along the ropes, reaching out for a tag. Savage sees him, he's straining for it-and makes it. Hogan in, grabs the side of the cage door-and kicks both Blassie and Volkoff in the face, sending them backwards to the floor! Hulk and Savage now dragging the Sheik back in..."

"The cane, Sheik, take them all out!" Blassie shouted to his man, gesturing to his cane where it lay on the steps. The Sheik groped for it and grabbed hold of it, then spun and promptly bashed both Mega Powers over the head. "Look at that, Iron Sheik taking the chance to-and look at that, he clobbers Dave Hebner hard in the face with the cane when he comes over to check on them!" Monsoon bellowed, incensed, as the referee crumpled limply to the mat from the blow, "He just earned himself a major fine, maybe a suspension for that! And now look, Blassie hits the door manager with a steel chair, and Volkoff climbs back into the cage; what is he doing back in there!?"

"Well ain't it obvious; now with the ref out cold, they have some time to get payback on the Mega Powers for all the dirty things they did to them throughout the match. They've technically won the match already since the Sheik was technically out before Hogan interfered, and now they can get their justice and leave casually."

"Technically doesn't cut it, and now look what they're doing; Iron Sheik and Nikolai Volkoff taking turns belting the Hulkster and the Macho Man with the cane! Now they're off the ropes, and a double splash!"

"That's payback for the illegal double suplex, you know."

"Will you stop!? President Jack Tunney now leaving his seat and coming over to the scoring table; perhaps he's planning to stop the match, and with the Mega Mercenaries now putting the Mega Powers into double Camel Clutches, who could really blame him? Elizabeth up on the apron, she looks like she's ready to cry at what's going on with her guys..."

"Just like a woman, huh? Well, if she's willing to beg and plead for them, I'm sure Blassie can have his men show some mercy."

"Elizabeth!" Hulk gasped towards her inside the ring, pain rippling across his face from the brutality of Volkoff's Camel Clutch on him, "The Kiss of Death, now!"

"I don't know, Hulk...!" she still looked unsure.

"Just this once!" the world champion begged her, fighting hard to keep from crying out in agony, "Or we'll get cleaved clean in half here!"

"We promise, just this once!" Savage groaned from the Sheik's Camel Clutch, "And only because I can't think of anything else to get out of this!"

Elizabeth glanced back and forth between the Mega Powers, Blassie on the other apron, urging his men to snap Hulk and Savage's spines clean in two, and the crowd. "I'm sorry, Mom," she whispered softly. She took a deep, uncertain breath...


	13. Chapter 13

...then quickly grasped the seam on the side of her dress, and with a hard yank pulled the entire dress off, revealing a bikini on underneath. The entire arena immediately exploded in a roar, accompanied by more than a few catcalls. "WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT? ELIZABETH HAS JUST SHOCKED THE ENTIRE GARDEN, AND I DARE SAY THE ENTIRE WORLD!" Monsoon, just as shocked himself, had to shout at the top of his lungs to be heard on the mike, "THE FIRST LADY OF WRESTLING JUST TOOK OFF HER DRESS, AND NOW SHE'S WALKING BACK AND FORTH ON THE APRON, TRYING TO GET THE MEGA MERCENARIES' ATTENTION-AND BOY HAS SHE EVER!"

Indeed, both the Sheik and Volkoff had immediately stopped their attack on the Mega Powers at the sight of Elizabeth parading around the apron in a bikini and were staring lecherously at her. "WHOA MAMA!" the Sheik yelled excitedly at the top of his lungs, his eyes all but bulging out of his head, "She's mine!" he jumped off Savage and rushed to the side of the cage.

"No, she's mine, Comrade Sheik!" Volkoff tried to push him aside.

"No way, Nikolai; you wouldn't know what to do with her!" the Sheik shoved his partner to the ground. "Hey baby, how about you and I go find some place special after the match and get to know each other better?" he asked Elizabeth, his face pressed right against the side of the cage.

"No! No! Snap out of it, you fools, it's a trick!" a frantic Blassie jumped up on the apron and waved his hand desperately in front of his men's faces, getting no response for his efforts, "Wake up, you morons; she's trying to buy them time! Turn around; they're getting up!"

But the Sheik and Volkoff continued to stare longingly at the still parading Elizabeth, not noticing at all Hulk and Savage slowly crawling up into a sitting position, taking an amazed glance at their swimwear-clad manager on the apron, then nodding at each other and doing their patented Mega Powers handshake, then lunged at the Mega Mercenaries and flattened them to the mat hard. Blassie roared in rage. "You dirty manipulative broad!" he bellowed angrily at Elizabeth. Then, without warning, he lunged at her and roughly shoved her off the apron to a horrified gasp from the crowd. "Take a look at that; what a rotten, despicable act by Blassie!" Monsoon was outraged.

"And I guess what Liz just pulled wasn't, Gorilla?" Ventura shot back.

"She meant no physical harm to the Mega Mercenaries; for Blassie to do that to her is the lowest thing a-but look out, here comes Savage out the cage door, and he looks madder than words! Blassie turns and sees him too late; Macho Man flattens the Classy One with a hard right cross! Savage yanks him up hard by the collar; pure rage on his face as he smashes Blassie's face into the side of the cage as hard as he can-four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve...!"

"This is terrible; he's torturing Blassie! Jack Tunney should ring the bell and award the Mega Mercenaries the match by disqualification right now!" Ventura roared, "I'll admit Blassie might have gotten a little carried away with shoving Liz, but the punishment does not fit the crime; look at him, Macho busted his face wide open! I think he broke his nose...!"

"For treating Elizabeth in the way he just did, he deserves whatever Savage gives him-and Savage now lifting him over his head!" Monsoon rose up again, "Randy Savage presses Freddie Blassie several times in the air, and hurls him hard into the ring barricades! Blassie groaning, his nose bleeding profusely...and now Savage off the apron and hits him with the elbow! Blassie clutching the chest; he may have cracked a rib, and that's bound to get worse as Savage kicks him in the chest repeatedly!"

"He's lost his mind; Savage is a deranged madman! Somebody get remove him from the ringside area before he kills Blassie!"

"If you cared for someone as much as Savage does for Elizabeth, you'd probably feel the same way, Jesse, but since it's all about you and only you, you wouldn't understand. Savage in fact now going over to Elizabeth, helping her up; she at least looks unhurt, thank God. And the important thing from the standpoint of this match is that the Macho Man is out of the cage via the door, so it's now down to see whether the Hulkster or the Sheik can get out first. And Hulk now whirling the Sheik and the illegally in there Volkoff around in circles; they're probably still wondering where the lovely lady in the swimsuit went..."

"Which should have been an automatic DQ as well; nothing in the rulebook says Liz should have done that stunt."

"On the other hand, nothing says she shouldn't have, so I say she was doing what was best for her team, as you've claimed the tactics Blassie's used all through this match are-look at that, Hulkster hurls the Sheik hard into the corner, then flings Volkoff into him; this crowd is going bananas!" he held up his headset to allow the viewers at home to get the idea, "Hulkster now walking towards the door, he's just about-hold on, Blassie flying towards the door, slams it shut, and he's pushing as hard as he can to hold it shut!"

"And the Mega Mercenaries stumbling over and pummeling Hogan again; now he's stuck in the ring, abandoned by his partner."

"But no, Hulkster spins and decks both Mega Mercenaries' lights out!" Monsoon bellowed, "The world champ getting that familiar wild look in his eyes as he gallops for the ropes, and now he's climbing out! Sheik and Volkoff stumbling to their feet; they're climbing after him, and so is Blassie on the outside, although he looks like he's grimacing pretty bad from what Savage just put him through. Hulk just about at the top, he's pulling himself up to the top of the cage-and the Mega Mercenaries grabbing his legs and pulling-no, they're climbing up his back, trying to weigh him down. Sheik swinging a blow at him-and here comes Blassie, who connects with a roundhouse right-but look, Savage right behind him, still looking livid, and the Macho Man jumps him from behind!" Monsoon leaped back to his feet, "Savage holding Blassie by the cranium, Hulk does the same with Volkoff and the Iron Sheik, they nod...and whoa, all three men head-butted hard, and down goes Blassie and his men into the cage! Hogan climbing up over the top, he's coming down, and there's no one left to stop him-and he jumps to the ground halfway down, and that's the match!"

"You sure about that, Gorilla? Dave Hebner's still out cold in the middle of the ring; if he didn't see anything happening..."

"But Jack Tunney did, and the World Wrestling Federation President raises both Mega Powers' hands; it is official!" Monsoon proclaimed as Real American roared to life over the loudspeakers to a tremendous ovation,

"That doesn't count; he ain't no official...!"

"He's the highest authority in the organization, so his word certainly counts. What a main event that was, and if we ever needed proof over who was the better manager, we got the clear answer tonight; when none of her men knew what to do, Elizabeth did."

"Sure, and in the process showed the entire world what a tramp she really is."

"No way. Macho Man raising his bride's arm in victory; just take a look at the pride on his face. He knows he's lucky to have someone like her. He wraps one of the American flags at ringside around her for a little bit of privacy, and there she goes, up on the shoulders, a princess on her de facto throne. Meanwhile, Hulkster has the Soviet and Iranian flags, hops up the stairs to the apron-and take a look, the world champ rips them clean through with that wild, satisfied expression!"

"That's terrible; he has no right to do that to the banners of the Iron Sheik and Nikolai Volkoff's homelands!"

"Even though both the Sheik and Volkoff have both spit on and burned our nation's flag at various times during their tenure here in the World Wrestling Federation? The two of them crawling out of the ring losers, trying to help up Blassie, who's still clutching his ribs; Savage really did a number on him."

"Yeah, and if Tunney believes in anything approaching fair play, he'd better suspend him good for it!"

"Now come on, he was defending his wife; any man worth his salt would have done the same if the woman he loves were treated the way Blassie treated Elizabeth. The Classy One in fact still yelling at her, I do believe, looks like he's saying it's not over yet as the Iron Sheik and Nikolai Volkoff carry him off, but for now, he's most decidedly the loser. In the meantime, the First Lady of Wrestling all smiles on her husband's shoulders, while the Hulkster proudly waves Old Glory on the apron, having successfully defended our country's honor. And speaking of success, I'd have to say Summer Slam was one incredible success, don't you, Jesse?"

"And as usual, Gorilla, the pleasure was all yours. You take us out; I'm out of here," looking bitter that Hulk had emerged victorious again, the Body slammed his headphones to the table and skulked off. "We'll see you all in about three months at the Survivor Series, set this year to take place in lovely Calgary, Alberta, Canada," his partner continued the close, "Till then, on behalf of Jesse Ventura, this is Gorilla Monsoon wishing you all a very happy good night."

* * *

><p>"She took off her dress," Don Vincenelli stared blankly at the screen as the credits rolled, "She took off her damn dress..."<p>

"Pretty neat idea, huh, Uncle Kenny?" Stefano rubbed his hands, thrilled "We ought to try and hire her for one of our guys; then if they get into scrapes, we can have her take everything off..."

"STEFANO!" the don barked at his nephew, bringing Stefano to instant silence. With a sigh, Vincenelli rose up and lit up a cigarette. "Well, at least we still made a mint off of it, but I'm still no closer to controlling the WWF," he rued, "Blassie and the rest of our puppets better have new ideas at our next meeting-including a training session for all of them to keep their eyes off attractive dames when they're working. Speaking of which," he turned to his dates, "My chauffeur will be glad to give you dolls a lift home till next time."

"So I guess it'll be Thanksgiving then?" one of them bubbled, "I'll tell all the girls down at the club this'll be the place to party on Turkey Day."

"Possibly, depending on how festive I feel. Let's show them out, Patrizio," the don told his bodyguard, whispering in the oversized man's ear, "Women, Patrizio; you can't live with them, you can't live without them, and like we saw on the tube, there's no telling when they'll do something completely out there, so try and steer clear of them for your own good..."

* * *

><p>"So I propose a toast," Hulk raised his beer glass high inside the original Cheers bar near Boston Common later that evening, "To the greatest team of wrestlers anyone would be proud to work with. You all did great tonight, even those of you who didn't win, and I'm glad we're all together on this. To us."<p>

"To us," the rest of the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection raised their glasses as well.

"And another special toast," Hulk continued, "To my very best friend, the one and only Tugboat," he raised the glass towards Tugboat to his right, "for passing the cut and making it into the World Wrestling Federation; any of us will be glad to work with you at any time, Tugger."

"Same here," a grinning Tugboat raised his own glass, "To me."

"Amen," the others raised their glasses again and then downed their drinks. "But I'll tell you one thing," the Boss Man groused once he was done, "I'm not done with Rude yet; he'll pay for what he said about my momma, by hook or by crook!"

"You'll get another chance soon, dude," the world champion assured the former prison guard, "Sooner or later he'll..."

"Hey, take a look at this, amigos!" Tito pointed at the nearest television, where the news anchor was bringing out a special report: "...breaking news at this hour, famous professional wrestling manager Bobby 'the Brain' Heenan was mistakenly arrested in a brothel raid this evening, where the famed manager was inexplicably wandering around dressed as a woman (footage of Heenan in drag being led into a paddy wagon by Boston police played on the screen, leading everyone in the bar watching the TV to roar in laughter). Once police realized the mistake, Heenan, who had earlier been managing at the Boston Garden at tonight's Summer Slam pay-per-view event, was released, but not before being charged with attempting to bribe the arresting officers to keep his name out of the news, an offense that may land him before a judge soon..."

The Rock 'n Wrestling Connection roared in laughter of their own. "Good old Heenan, he never fails to amuse anyone," Steamboat was barely holding it together, "Now there's a man that takes losing the wrong way for sure."

"Now if we could just get Paul Bearer in drag, that would be better," Davey completely broke down in laughter at the thought of the pale mortician dressed in a dress, "But a salute to the Brain," he raised his glass to the footage of Heenan in the dress, "All together now..."

"Here's to you, Bobby Heenan, you make us all laugh more than you will know, whoa whoa whooooooaaa," they all sang together to the tune of "Mrs. Robinson."

"Or in Heenan's case, ho ho ho," Piper cracked.

"Roddy," Bret frowned at him.

"Well you've got to admit, Bret old pal, this was the one time that..." Piper abruptly stopped as the bar doors swung open. "Oh no," the Scotsman groaned, for it was the Warrior standing in the doorway. "I have fought the fight, and I have conquered the foe!" he bellowed, striding towards the group, "And I did it better than any of you. Now you must admit me to the summit of Olympus! Now I must be allowed to join the immortals!"

"Hey pal, we have a limit to how drunk people can be in here," the bartender admonished the Warrior.

"I am not intoxicated! My mind is clearer than it has ever been; my powers are stronger than they have ever been! So what will it be!?" the Warrior got right in Hulk's face, "Am I one of you or not!?"

"Well, Warrior," Hulk thought fast, "I'll need a moment to make the final decision. Why don't you and I step outside and go over some final plans; Andre, I think your opinion's important on this one too." He waved the Giant over, motioned for him to bend down, and whispered in his ear, "The moment we're outside, pick him up, pack him into the first cab you see, and tell the driver to drive him at least thirty miles out of the city as fast as he can; we'll pay extra for it."

Andre winked at his friend. "Let's go for a little walk, Warrior," he took the face-painted wrestler by the arm and gently led him towards the door, Hulk in tow.

"I have earned this moment!" the Warrior naively proclaimed, "I am powerful, I am exemplary...!"

"And you are leaving; have a good night," Savage called sarcastically after him. "Good riddance to bad rubbish," he mumbled under his breath.

He turned to the left, where a once again fully dressed Elizabeth was sipping on an iced tea. "Feeling more OK about it now?" he asked her, putting an arm around her.

"I guess so, Randy," she admitted, "Since you and Hulk could have been seriously hurt otherwise, I guess it was the right thing to do; I just hope I haven't spoiled the image I seem to have..."

"They'll understand, the parents'll understand, because you do too much good not to, yeah," he assured her, "And I think your family won't be too upset given, like you said, it was for a good cause. And you don't have to do it again, I promise it, yeah."

He planted a kiss on her cheek and glanced towards the TV, now showing the footage of the main event (Elizabeth, though, slid slightly down in her seat when her dress came off on the screen). "What a night, us and the world champion shocking the world, yeah," he mused, "And someday, somehow, Elizabeth, I'm gonna be world champ myself. Then you'll really be the toast of the business, yeah; I can see it now, you up on the shoulders here, the belt over your shoulders, king and queen of the world, oh yeah."

"I'd like that," she looked dreamy, "To actually win it all would be something special all right. And you're certainly good enough to do it, Randy..."

"Darn right I am, and nobody manages better than you, yeah. In fact, I swear to you now, we're gonna be the champs soon, real soon..."

"Still on the title kick, huh Randy?" Bret slid next to him, "Sometimes I think you think too much about that, to be honest."

"Well ain't it part and parcel of the business to aim for the world title, Hitman?" Savage raised an eyebrow, "I know you've worked long and hard for it too; the only problem is timing, yeah; if the chance don't come too soon, then you get too old, too washed up," his expression fell, "I'd like that chance before that's what I turn into..."

"My father always said to me, Randy, true talent always shines through in the end," the Hitman assured him, "So don't obsess over it; if you are good enough, you'll get there in time; sooner or later, the best always float to the top."

"Ah yeah, another patented Stu Hart lifeism; I wonder if he wrote them all down in a notebook somewhere," Savage took another swig of beer, "Till then, though, it's good to actually get to work regularly with the champ, yeah," he nodded as Hulk and Andre came back in, the Warrior nowhere in sight. "You got rid of him again, Champ?" he asked his fellow Mega Power as Hulk sat down next to Bret.

"He's gone, Randy-for now," Hulk nodded, "He put up a stronger fight than I thought, but Andre got him in the cab, and now he's headed for the suburbs, one way."

"Amen," Tugboat slid over himself, "Well, now that I'm on the tour, I guess we'll be seeing a whole lot more of each other, huh Hulkster?"

"You bet, Tugger," the champ assured him.

"So can I join up with...?" the big man gestured around the room at the rest of the group.

"Uh, well, like we tell the Warrior, we're not really accepting any new members right now," Bret admitted, "But any of us will be glad to team with you at any point."

"Well, I'll drink to that. Bartender, another round for us all," Tugboat called to the man, who indeed filled all their glasses to the top. "I propose one final toast," he held his glass high, "To a terrific Summer Slam."

"To a terrific Summer Slam," everyone at the counter agreed with him, emphatically clanking their glasses in satisfaction.

TO BE CONTINUED...


End file.
